I think I`m dying.

A swarm of Erinyes have encircled me

and in stentorian tones they've uttered

that I am under siege.

I don't know what I am anymore,

for the comforting "I"is becoming "us".

Wrists unfold into view,

veins glide obeisant through my hands

like blooming crevices.

The sultry eye is seething

on both sides I am bleeding.

And while it drips and oozes

in ravenous ecstasy,

everything I knew and was,

has been overhauled.


I can't clock in neither when nor how

this agony thrived.

Suffice it to say,

I can't bear the thought

of caging in inside me.

This, I know

it'll hatch an island.

But I shall not suffer the ill

of island living.