IT'S NOT ENOUGH. I'm not sick enough yet. WHen will it be enough???? Maybe if I can reach beyond fascia?
Then surely I will feel fulfilled? I'm too sick for everyone else but im not sick enough. If I just
press hard enough, swipe fast enough, cut inside the cut inside the cut inside the cut, I’ll find the
relief. If I could just reach the muscle maybe i would be able to stop. That’s the problem, isn’t it?
The problem is that no matter how deep I go, I’m still only scratching the surface. Does anyone else see
this? Does anyone else see how this endless cycle feels, how it never ends, how no matter what I try,
it’s always too much or never enough? Always too loud but too quiet. Do i need to reach bone for it to
stop? How do you stop when you’ve already gone too far to turn back?
The tiles remember a different geometry where corners had intentions and the floor tried to become a
ceiling and somewhere between pattern and repetition something small went missing but left its
outline behind like a stain of absence the window holds a sky that feels borrowed like it will be
returned when no one is looking and the room keeps rearranging its silence into sharper shapes that
almost speak but choose not to as if language itself would crack the porcelain calm
I am not a child of god. I was excreted by a lapse in divine attention. I pray with razors. I do not
flinch anymore. The body learns to lean into its own undoing. Blood pools on my skin and in the
wound and it glitters under the cheap light that buzzes like a fly, beautiful the way only forbidden
things can be. It is the most divine sight I will ever get to witness. I stare every day. It looks
so beautiful like a cherry strawberry pulp. Strawberry fields forever, thats what John Lennon said,
right? Each time i see it I think, this is the only honest thing I’ve produced all year. Every line
I draw frees me from another promise: the promise of endurance, the promise of becoming, the promise
that tomorrow would feel different, the promise of evolution.