DYING TO MOVE
Attempting to locate the glorified existence. The route dwell in trembling cuts and forceful mangling.
Left are fragments of crushed bones.
Reaching the tunnel
the one to rewind it all
and the one to move you forward too
Time moves along with my body
It’s hard to really know
how deep and lengthy it will be
going backwards
I start crawling
It’s so narrow my body barely fits
To move forward I dig with all of my hands
It's not dirt my nails are clawing at
It’s uncomfortable bones and saturated flesh
It’s grounded to one and the same
A mash, a paste, a mince
How much of it is me and my dissolving outlines?
Moving through this sinuous labyrinth
No alternative routes
Disintegrating during the course
If there ever was a mind, it’s gone
Body completely embraced
Movements are even more ambiguous now
Enclosed in the throat of time
Fluid increases as I go
Venom breaking down the volume of my torso
Excess fat and breasts
Remaking my anatomy
Body or walls surrounding it
All the same
Does time still exist?
Do I, without the parts of me?
Shoulders and hips
Does time exist
without me?
All the same
All the same
Exhilaration replaces the chunks I’m missing
In the end, the spine remains