The lungs wore sneakers. Nobody questioned this. Nobody.

The body holds its own carnival when no one is watching, each organ slipping into sneakers and filing onto the dance floor beneath a mirror globe that scatters light like a burst capillary. The green balloon hovers above them all, grinning with the teeth of something that has eaten every secret the body ever swallowed. Confetti falls like shed cells, bright and weightless and already forgetting what they were part of.

Apr 23, 2026

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