look past the fence and
you can see me ascending
**content warning: graphic imagery, gore, self-harm**
tonight crumples in on itself. its hair falls in piles next to its
feet, and it bends over with its jaws unhinged, clutching its
stomach. i watch the galaxies flood from its mouth, and it
convulses until the ground shakes beneath me. its body
goes flaccid in a pool of writhing stardust and burns. this is
far too beautiful to be called a death, but it is one
nonetheless. i look away, and i rub my throat with the back
of my discolored hand.
i shoot mars out of the sky and dig my nails into its skin. it
bursts like a balloon, releasing warm blood over my hands.
i brush the yellow foam away from its lips and lick it off my
fingers. it is sweet like clear wine; i wobble on my feet and
suck the liquid from the faucet. they say that intoxication is
like a numbing agent, and i wish i could become drunk
before daybreak snaps my neck.
tonight smells like burning bodies. something drips on my
shoulder and i look up to see eternity lighting a match to
my hair. the skin blackens around my head and splits pink;
warm liquid pools around the blisters like moondust. i
stretch the wounds apart and see stars underneath the
burnt flesh. it is nauseatingly warm; i bury myself into the
flames and i laugh until i am crying.
tonight, it feels like i am everywhere and nowhere at once.
i devour the cosmos and explode into a million shiny
pieces. i bury my fingers into the sky and slowly suck out
the light. i paint myself into the galaxies and breathe out a
crippling ephemerality. something feels so wrong yet so
right at the same time; my shadow hangs limp from the
tree branch. i smile.
tonight, it feels like i can live forever.
About the Author
D.Y. Ink is a student writer living in the American South. She enjoys taking long walks in her backyard and listening to music she can't understand. You can find her work at The Prose, Write The World, and Cathartic Youth Literary Magazine.