JANUARY // s. mardon
i woke up with a flame searing down my side - growing pains, round two, an angry wasp digging its way between my hipbone,
teeth gnashing at my ribs, hard, deadly, cleansing
there’s a dissonance in entering this world as a lump of rotting bones, moss growing from my limbs,
having to be destroyed to be made right, having to do it all over again, hands bloody
from holding it all together until it can mend itself.













