We circle each other. We smell blood. My wounds are deep as you stick your hand inside this stigmata. You don’t see how I sacrifice myself for you. You have the gift of being blank. I am so burdened by the specter, pale images in my mind today. We have the same growl; you to force yourself to feel again, I to survive how I tear through skin. Fights to the death are an everyday occurrence.
From the collection “Animal”