Written by Tabalith
Art by Merlin Lightpainting


Falling from a cliff with wings made of your own bones,
bones juice, that is; boney wings stuck to your skin
like this newborn sticks to the flesh between your thighs

Now you both are falling but some call it flying –
this makes it sound beautiful to those who have ears;
the other ones run with you, your feet are red dust

Once you land on your face, it belongs to the stones,
and you count stones so as to not count the crimson cells
streaming down your connected dots of loose meat

You lick tombstones and feel the salt of thirst;
salt gropes your breasts and it is not salt but a human
cutting off human hands and stitching together animal claws

Death is somewhere near, down here between wombs;
licking every bloody knife lying on the sandy grounds,
you have forgotten that you once were a somethingness