“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
Of de-and-re-composing,
Yet still, I’m lax and liminal;–

On the edge of almost changing.




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