rot, consume, accept

There is a sense of excitement that comes with knowing. Reaching inside the darkest parts, and pulling out fingers with a quiet stench that lingers. An unctuous film, dripping, clinging, lingering against skin refusing to come off. No matter how hard it’s been scrubbed, and scrubbed, and scrubbed. “Get clean,” “Get clean,” “Please.” Blood seeping out of fresh wounds, healed over scars — there’s comfort in not being alone. Lack of awareness that creeps up from inside the spine. Sharp cold tracing, running up slowly and methodically to the spinal cord. One wrong move and you’ll gain a new scar; one unable to mend itself.

The feeling fading to an emptiness throbbing with want. “Come back,” “Come back,” Please.” Begging to not be left. An unlearning of being scared, unless that is what the satisfactory goal is. No other option but to then search, until amnesia finds its way through the cracks.

wait, what is it again? oh! the Stars! beautiful! waiting for the brightest one to explode. imploding on what makes this vulgar space - Beautiful!

oh Right!,

A grip so tight intertwined with a euphoric slipping. Easing fingers back in, to the deepest parts of self. No longer as pretty as they were once seen to be. Maybe never as pretty as originally thought to begin with; a facade of what could’ve been— should’ve been. Ah, but now there is real beauty. Beyond what can be grasped, no longer a feeling but the act of reaching and reaching and reaching and reaching, reach… “Grab me,” “Grab me,” “Please.”

There is no other way, all senses now recoiled back to a state of beginning. Begging to be held by something - anything. “Consume me, please..” turn me inside out. Pink slick flesh finally on the outside, stinging from the air that pulsates around, the becoming. No longer a familiar vice, but something of an embrace. oh the Stars! now it is my time to explode. no longer Scared, but in-love with What is to become. “I love,” “i Love,” “please.”

What comes first? The madness or the decent? No longer grasping on to what is whole. Free through what traps me — an all consuming. If there is a chance to forget… just know there’s a soul, begging with no mercy, moaning from the thought of a promise, an escape. “Oh please, oh please,” “Oh.”