no.
again.
___
your body still full
yet phantom blades creaking, toils
slicing the soft unfertile soil.
you cry and try to bind your folds
a futile attempt to desperately hold
a glimmer.
___
rhythmic bright blades twist and turn
the burn!
clock-work like the turbines now freely spin
and the river churns
and runs.
guts wrench, putrid stench
of a battle lost before it had begun.
___
globules and strands and bits of flesh
I squint but cannot make out any form
for which I am grateful
yet I hate
that it is so.
___
rage in my body, turmoil in my head
‘you pathetic failure’, ‘your body fails you’
a voice scornfully declares.
I look down and detest the mess
acceptance hurts less.
___
