BLOODY TORN TATTERED BRUSIED & CUT OPEN WHOLE
Wings of Substance & Abuse
Blood drips from my chilled neck down the valleys of my back, inadvertently changing its direction once the stream meets the numerous scars left behind. Your call comes through, hands trembling, barely able to keep the microphone next to your mouth, wondering if what you say next will be the last of what there is to convey—not sure of the difference between substance and abuse at this point. My heart pumps faster as you hang up, forcing more blood to come out of cuts I didn’t know I had—because I know the cycle starts again. Everybody you know, I seem to make a story, one in which they don’t know and I—I am the dream catcher.
Wings, bloodied and tattered, start to unfold from the blades your fingers wielded. The emergence stains everything I possess, beyond salvation, no amount of redirection could have changed this invasion. Reminiscent of a blood eagle, my ribs exposed and splitting out, portray the brutal Viking execution. My fragility is laid bare, unable to bear more than the proverbial sticks and stones. I am no lamb in dark attire, no creature bathed in artificial light or stark whiteness. A cavern, forced open at my core, now cradles more than I could ever amass. No amount of ingested substance can fill this void.
Blood drips from my chilled neck down the valleys of my back, inadvertently changing its direction once the stream meets the numerous scars left behind. Your call comes through, hands trembling, barely able to keep the microphone next to your mouth, wondering if what you say next will be the last of what there is to convey—not sure of the difference between substance and abuse at this point. My heart pumps faster as you hang up, forcing more blood to come out of cuts I didn’t know I had—because I know the cycle starts again. Everybody you know, I seem to make a story, one in which they don’t know and I—I am the dream catcher.
Wings, bloodied and tattered, start to unfold from the blades your fingers wielded. The emergence stains everything I possess, beyond salvation, no amount of redirection could have changed this invasion. Reminiscent of a blood eagle, my ribs exposed and splitting out, portray the brutal Viking execution. My fragility is laid bare, unable to bear more than the proverbial sticks and stones. I am no lamb in dark attire, no creature bathed in artificial light or stark whiteness. A cavern, forced open at my core, now cradles more than I could ever amass. No amount of ingested substance can fill this void.