“The process of transformation consists almost entirely of decay.” – Pat Barker, Regeneration
Do not split open my chrysalis;
I haven’t a self to show you yet.
I came home and my body didn’t fit,–
A flesh-sack, my name still stitched
To the skin, yet unfamiliar all the same.
I couldn’t keep it pinned upon my frame.
With rootless threads of sinew-string
I wove within a brittle shell of hell
My soft pulp – a liquid, lifeless thing.
One month within that carceral husk
Yet still, I’m lax and liminal;–
On the edge of almost changing.