I die
And it doesn’t feel how I thought it would
It never feels how I want it to
To be
A searing puncture wound
On sole of foot
Propagating leafy flesh
Body bandaged green linen
Slowly rounding thighs
Climaxing
Silencing chrysalis
Breathing through the minutiae of cranial nerve drain
Stormy Luna sea
Raging pulse for pulse
With the synchronized silver
Screaming through veins
As phantom nails
Scratch hieroglyphic graphic fiction
In the living Sarcophagus
Suffocating the love and haste
And everything goes silent
In the needle fine cracking
Scored glass webbing
That trembles under the pressure
Imploding in thousands of monarch ripe wings
Migrating cloud of chaos theory
Skyward elevation release
E.A. O'Connell
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