20,000 Leagues Under the Skin

Having been hit by a splinter of a noise-cracked day, I became restless, and ate off the tips of my fingers. I led her through the holes into my marrow and felt her crawl and with my seizing screams of rapture, led her to the caves. There, unhealth drips down with wine and acid, and sculpts my body abysmal. I asked her to feel the walls and know the hollows and I marveled when her hands did not rot and her eyes did not drain and she spoke my name with shape like an empty river to catch the flowing sicknesses. I wanted her to see every depth and know that I taste like murder and though we could end up in the outer boroughs of hell, I needed her to follow the walls and my breathing to where space becomes chamber housing living sound and frenzies in the empty aftermath to whisper its only softness and its only peace to her, the silken shadow on the cave walls, who moves with freedom and makes the choice to touch what I cannot look deep enough to see and it was simple hands on palsied heart that made me clean and fixed my fingers.