Monsters

There is a certain loneliness

that lurches beneath

my bedroom door,

the sort that stockpiles

itself upon my pillows

attempting to pierce my tender flesh,

the kind that, if given the opportunity,

would swallow me whole

from inside out


Settling into my silence

there is no match to deter me

from the strength of my bleeding heart

I lie, saturated...

It is here that I give birth to my death.

It is here

that I find the breakdown of what must remain,

in proper burial,

and how to leave it behind,

in tribute...in transmission...in transcendence.

Still photo by Shelby Cook from the art performance "Visitation Station: Breaking Beta"





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