BLOOD MOON
something quick on becoming & unbecoming.
scoliosis has made me moonlike
arching
hunching
waning
crescent girl
stupid loveful creature
glass skin & glass eyes
sometimes i think something small inside
me has curled up and died.
maybe that's why i can always smell rotting.
i think my brain has unspooled herself:
birthday streamer, gleaming red & wet
i am a mangled slug, fizzing with lifesalt
burn & melt, gape at the world
catch the sun setting
writhing in the park
exploding, mucin weaving nets in the leaves
cinnabar lungs flash as they greet the infant sun. they were born together: one night of trembling, clawing, desperate pushing, & then all at once retching up to greet the world: bloody splash & smack, gibbous moons in the dirt.
sky mother waves to my capsizing body, tender, proud
watching from across the ward-horizon as i jerked & spat in my earth bed
i imagine divinity feels like stillness. like clarity. total cleansing, ship of theseus. deeper than i can get, even when i rub my body raw & sinless. two marble dishes, clear water and something nacreous. swirl opposite ways down my throat, never mixing, coriolis. it stings like underwater when you accidentally breathe in. i’d be clean. i could start anew. (if i say it like a prayer maybe someone will listen).
sky mother can make me lovely. she will skewer my dead internet eyes on her brooch pin; hollow out that old slug and thread its tiny heaving body round her collar. scrape those little furred florets of mould from where they swell and bloom around the organs. mine the seam of curdled blood into hard little gemstones.
or maybe i can curl up
in her arms
like some rotten, dying thing
until i start to wax again.
haven’t written 4 a long time, but i think this is alright. lmk. love you all ⸺ sonny <33
my gosh you’re a good writer