I exist in-between pages

I exist in-between pages, along the edges of the ink stains. I was printed backwards and I move forward into a sea of paper cuts and rules. I don’t want margins, I want sunsets and endings disguised as beginnings. I don’t want your metaphors, I have my own. I dream of emptiness and snow but I thrive on heat and sweat. Soft, grinding, breathing. I’m not afraid of being devoured, I have risen too many times.