Nerve | Logan Roberts

I have snails in my head.

There’s too much salt in my mouth.

What would you paint on the inside of a cell?

I’d paint a prison in my body.

Ten broken antennas.

Left on the side of an exhaustive road that leads to the deep ocean.

Make anyone’s bed.

In the dark we’re all sleeping.

I set a goal: a thousand years in a day spent outside.

Looking outside.

Cells swept up in salt water.

Salted with shells.

A broken tooth prophecies: I am not a fortune cookie.

I am a root of blood.

A tower of fire.

Without a home.

Roll into the pale sun.

A trail of glistening drought.

Logan Roberts is an artist and writer in Florida. Tweets @hello_im_logan