They called me the Bookworm
so I spent my hours burrowing
into the pages, slipping between
the lines, sniffing the words, and eating
the letters. All of them slipped
down my torso easily, my mouth fitting
around each symbol. It was all
delicious, sweet and tart like apples,
with a skin that snapped when I closed my teeth
on them. The juice ran down my chin,
and I licked it up, the savory drops falling
down my throat. Oh, yes, I was the
Bookworm.
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