In December at three in the morning
A song starts playing, and dark orange
Humming weaves between the western lights
Slicing through my window, dividing
My skin into strips, criss-crossed again
By fresh rifts
The song's first sentence
Excuse me, I'm lost
I liked to think I was lost
Long ago, then I did not need
To be responsible, I only needed
To be lost
Any direction is acceptable
The song's heartbeat
Winds up the well of my throat
Here we are
Beginning with my left arm
Up it climbs, bloody rungs
Sticking loose threads dyed black
Spider legs cuddling close
Hopeless prey, passive, numb
Across my chest
Stab wounds, tattoos of anger
This stupid hollow vessel
Stretch marks, shaving rash
Down my back
Creases from sleeping on folds
Imprints of slept through pain
One leg, then the other
Then my neck
Then my face
A digital symphony composed
Of endless tracks laid over each other
Days and days and days
Slipping open scabs and letting loose
Sad blood, my flagellation
In the early hours, scored to the same
Rhythm, one beat, two
Come down
Buried in the neon indifference.
@nepion_boreas17
