This Is How You Lose the Time War

Her pen had a heart inside, and the nib was a wound in a vein. She stained the page with herself. She sometimes forgets what she wrote, save that it was true, and the writing hurt.

Poetry as prose. I don't know if I've ever read something as sensory as this. A little impenetrable at first, but once that surface tension is broken and you pick up the general vibe it just carries you right along.