Hi
I came out of the womb reaching, hands trembling for fire. The world handed me shadows that gnawed at my bones. Closeness is a predator and I am the prey, arching toward teeth I cannot outrun.
Futures crawl at the edges of my skull, tables too long and faces folding inside themselves, voices spilling like worms into my ears. I think of these lives until my brain hums with something alive, something cruel.
Here shadows pulse. Unread letters coil like dead moths. Thoughts knot themselves into crowns of thorns, digging deep, burrowing into marrow, turning my chest into a cage of whispers.
I reject closeness not for sense, but to survive the hunger it awakens. And yet my body betrays me, arching, crashing, a bell swung through broken glass, shards embedding in my ribs, singing, slicing, bleeding light I cannot see.
Being seen is a knife. I imagine an inventory of me laid out on white cloth, weighted, measured, found hollow. Even saints bled to touch the real. I am left marrow with shadows that twitch, gnaw, whisper.
I kneel in corners, confessions clawing up my throat. Incense curls, rots into rust. I open my mouth, and it vanishes. The darkness swallows it whole.
The world leaks. Walls breathe, paint curls like skin. The statues whisper that I am already lost, but I reach anyway.
Desire is violent. I want to be held, to have voices coil around me.
I crash towards closeness anyway, raw, desperate, unholy. A creature split in half reaching toward impossible warmth. If this is sin then I am immaculate, unsaved but insistent.
I am hunger.
And still I reach. :)