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…no thought did He give…sacrificed me to violence…the light vanquished and my skin shedding…my cold beyond touch…and veins with nothing to give…blood of life, blood of gifts…blood absence…visage of immortality, ageless of face and lightness of foot…anise wings hovering the bed…soul revolving door…the violence waged and the world about me cringed…they feared my being, my unbecoming…I, steadfast and comatose…unsteady waves and blind…paging through the voices…connecting to the memory of vine charcoal smudges, reflecting back the tale of demise, and it’s not simple, not easily defined…my existence questioned, until 3:00am…Genesis…from a death repose, I’m resurrected, gasping for air…teetering, one foot in, one foot out…and I weep not, nor do I register vocally in the pitch of their heartstrings…I merely listen, taking it all in…the phantom sensations…the sewing of a new seam of life…I hear confessions crashing a funeral…I drop communion from my tongue and beat back the mourners…I’m His very sin brought back to life…I’m His abomination and sacrifice…I’m the embodiment and manifestation…The Sin and The Absolution…Death’s compass true north…Lilith’s womb waging war…

E.A. O'Connell