Soul begets Rot

Beams of sunlight invaded the darkness of my room. Forcing to illuminate the parts of me I kept hidden. Clothes scattered like pieces of myself I shedded in my pursuit to face the unknown, tissues lying around that serve as a reminder of my vulnerability to sin and grievances I fell apart to, wires that could almost resemble a rope if I squint, and the smell of the rotting essence of my history that I carry with palms half tighten, half loose.

I am all that remains of myself, a system of ashes and flesh, I am neither the either but I am both. Death and life. Monster and God. I am all that hurt and sensates. But to myself, I am only ever ruin and greed. Teeth sinking into holy body, I regurgitate salvation that I cannot accept. Retching at my wretched self that clings to survival but turns away from deliverance, and fears damnation but has secured a post at hell's door nonetheless. I am not a problem you could solve.

Hollow and hallowed, I am a homophone that bleeds into the empty spaces of my carcass, yet blood consecrates my nothingness as if I am made sacred by being easier to hold, but too far gone to be touched. Not all that glitters is gold, some are gold plated dressed in ironies. Like a dog who can only ever show love through its teeth.

Pinky promise kisses to my young self who didn't know any better, who glamorized growth as a beautiful, soft thing. I turn my face away from her knowing that I could not get better than this. I tried. Promise.