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Creator {Abomination in creation}
We {One and the same}
Beasts {And the comfort in our monstrosity}
Its scars rail my body  —a relief map of flesh— open wounds stagnate their healing
And suffer the eyes {my eyes} gazing upon such visage
A fist webbed mirror, slicing the atmosphere between, splintering my pupils
Bleeding out iris tides —blood shot blood mines— an expedition of blind mercies littered with canary corpses
I faithfully retrieve the fractures of gnawed bones of thought
{Our silence is rich marrow hollowed by hot breath and parasitic want}
And from memory I mosaic It back to form— ingesting shards of Its sins reflected in my palms
I voyeur It —dissecting my death— scouring veins and organs— fingers running the intricate carvings illustrating  a life lived within
It frustrates. It disembowels— I'm entrails of shed snake skins, deathwatch beetle exoskeletons, deadly night shade sighs on a linen language
It tears with remorse. It summons a heal— packing my gut with oil of clove, citrine, amber, a match It strikes against the stone of my stare
I ignite {flames in rapid rise} illuminating my flesh— stained glass plenty in an abandoned house of worship
Its flesh begins to char. smolder. hum
Its mouth escaping wool fat moths —screaming a green hunger— evading light for Rorschach shadow play before my deteriorating frame
A simultaneous collapse {our solo-selves} a super-cell of thunderous shrapnel {new leaves turn their backs to the wrath of our unbecoming}
{the world drops off — light harmonizing}
Through blur comes clarity of Its space having been occupied— my body. my face. my pine
I look down and behold— Its hands. Its vice. Its laughter
We {in reflection}
We {reflector}

E.A. O'Connell (June 2015)