look past the fence and
you can see me ascending

D.Y. Ink

**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.

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