quiet in body never felt connection in reflection never seen harmony in surface and mind never realized.
what is real? I cannot see, neither feel. what I see, likewise feel —is not real?
back against the wall, cracked.
a chorus of blood chants incessantly under skin in the tunnels of my wrists a buzzing I am encased in this unsound flesh of sin, crawling fingers of insanity all I can do is destroy (myself) the ritualistic obsession the control seduction compulsively constructing my own deconstruction a dance —just enough to relive pain in living sweating and dizzy in exhaustible effort I am, lost in the hunt to conquer my body like a continent assimilation with a world where all flesh is but wax and tactless camouflage painted cheeks fall like petals hair like wheat severs from heads and bones rust like guns that drain away blood— no-win.
my brain collapses inwards.
I strive towards completion but in reaching it find I am already dead.