she was thinking again
about the seams in her legs
the stitches
and weeping.
it terrified her
the blood gushing out
torn skin
the flavor of pain
her eyes were locked open
and she stared at the seams
tears pouring from her sewed-open eyes
she sits on her pile of ashes
her blood mixing
making a muddy paste
that crusts on her eyelashes
her bruised cuts growing on her flesh
opening
and reopening
maggots gnawing on her body
eating the remnants of flesh
and she stares.

Winter sun you amaze me
Lush fields of green
The smell of a freshly cut lawn
Winter sun soothingly kissing my skin
An unusual stillness in the air
A world on mute
Winter sun you appear
Like a beaming smile
When my flesh is in need
Cover me in your wholeness
Enfold me in a leafy glade
Melt the cold away
And stay with me throughout this forlorn day
Winter sun bathe me in your golden ray
Winter sun never go away

hello
i said
to man underneath my bed
hello
i said
to the voices in my head
hello
i said
to the body in the shower
hello
i said
at the witching hour
hello
i said
to the maggots in rotting flesh
hello
i said
to cuts still fresh
goodbye
i said
to a mind, almost dead

i felt like slicing you open, razor thin
and while you are asleep, to crawl inside of you
to take residence in the warmth of your flesh,
never to leave, never to separate
to merge with you as the wounds grow shut.

Oddities of flesh
Pale and sickly
Necrotic, peeling off
Craving death so near
But if treated with care,
It will glow like fire
Radiant, vibrant
And it will be so
Impossibly beautiful
Full of vitality
Powerful
But, it must be
Treated with care

If blessedness is a choice,
who chooses to be accursed?

What need for God,
since we bless ourselves;
by the strength of our arms,
and the cunning of our wits;
but that they remain
strong and sharp even with age,
and that our store houses,
are not burned down or robbed,
and that Evil be kept far from us.

Job was blessed of God.
Evil touched him to his bones,
His storehouses burnt down,
His sons and daughters massacred.
Wishing death rather than life,
but enough life and fear remain,
to know torment, pain and suffering,
and to question agonizingly without answers;
accused falsely by unwise friends,
who spoke the wind as if its wisdom;
and to live days without end in sight.

We bless ourselves
as we count blessings:
Beholden to the flesh,
its desires and fears.
As the blind,
content not to fall,
but destined to fly
and see the unseen
and be the unimaginable.