I took birth in the dark. Blankets of loss. Loss of all light.
Mother had told.
An onyx bowl. A cavity. I came with a face untouched.
Untouched by sight.
Or so for the next thirty minutes.
I had limbs of clay. Molten clay. Shaped like rooms inside a room. A tongue hung in the epicenter. The scream is an elongation of the first grief.
Megawatts. Electric currents. Wires buzzing.
My voice tore away like brown suns falling into a pyre.
Still trying to discern heat from the burns.
Still finding its way back.
Sometimes when I warm into moist nights I burn like a sliced orange.
Orange flames on a steel plate.
the ability to sense darkness with shut eyes.
Waking again. Birthing again into a trembling state of panic.
Deception. Betrayal. Fear.
the accumulation of losses. Loss of all light.
The ability to sense…
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