I cut
Just to feel alive.

I cry
Just to feel pain.

I skip meals
Just to feel worthy.

I don't sleep
Just to feel something.

Now, I don't even know
If I'm feeling anything at all.

In the over-crowded buildings
Rife is passive creatures
That attend purely through duty
There is distraction, mischief
And never-ending procrastination

A sea of faces swarm the room
With waves of cliques crashing through
Around this vastly crowded place
My eyes are drawn to one single thing
Not that of noise or familiarity
But to *you

I am enough.
I am enough.
I am enough.
I am enough.
I am enough.
With or without you,
**I am enough.

I am drawing
a pentagram
around our bed.
From within it
we shall issue
spells and charms
into the universe
and then lie together
in awed silence,
listening
for their echoes,
magick whispered
promises of
love to come.
   ~mce

“My wound existed before me;
I was born to embody it.”*
Joë Bousquet

No anaesthetic rhyming with aesthetic for the cracks of words now **** it! This pain keeps inventing skies to fall into, glass screams, corroded nails Crying comes from far away Words grow flesh Between fingers Herds are trampling on my heart inside plastic horizons This stupendous silence then Take my bones from yesterday Future is a catapult What if I am only a girl facing this      Breathe out

I am the possession/oppression The oppressor is me Pain is not a stylistic experiment Where can I hide my ears I crawled I bent Disfigured I had to pick up my eyes from fences, my lungs from the mirror I have a body full of used words, slapped doors, walls swollen by silence Hope to get used to be treated in the third person No poetics of space Pain is this quarry in me L’habitude of memory