Moving closer, getting a better view
And I wanted to set the world on fire with my words. I spit warm reds and yellows and oranges, they burn when they touch the skin (evidence I’ve been, evidence I’ve existed). Can you feel my feelings, or am I too distorted, misrepresented, broken? If you try to touch me does your hand fall through me, like a ghost, translucent and not-quite part of this world?
Is it rude to question you like this? A demanding want for connection, acceptance, incorporation? See me and see my cracks, see me and see the pieces with the light shining through, I beg of you. My tears burn my own face, there’s no chance of making it out of here alive. I’m a one word horror story, disenfranchised and discontinued. (My screams will haunt your dreams, or do they already?)
I remember, and I remember everything, like the comfort of a warm embrace my memories line the halls of my own demise. Scars have left a story for the blind upon my arms, legs, thighs, breasts. A kinship with those who have spat venom at themselves, awaiting a ship to the future of you, me, and and everything else. Atoms that vibrate but never touch, eternity will be my one last retribution. To slide with and within those that have hurt me, and those that have held me, those that crossed the street not even recognising me - an eternity to atone for the sins of my own making.
If you believe this, you’ll believe anything.