It is my pain that makes me. It is my pain that is synaptic fluid to my bones. It is my pain that glued me together, braiding my neurons into a gyric bouquet. It is my pain that oozes lymphocytes out of my vessels when I try to hurt myself. It is my pain that I bleed on this page. It is my pain who built me.

Who molded my back into a human figurine when I was a puddle of paraffin. It is my pain that softened the dents on my epithelium. A pool of fibrin and purple memories of what once was. In the gaps. In the sinews. In the cracks between my bloodied lips. I chew. I scavenge pain like its elixir, like mitochondria who lost her oxygen, like an enamel that craves cavities, like lungs that breathed for the first time, maddened my exotic thirst to feel it sharpening the edges of my form.

My pain hurts me. It leaves ropeburns across my navel like kisses from a lover I cannot name. But it also cures me. It makes my eyes, lost black moons, terraforms of honey and green. It cocoons me like a bride's gown at the altar of chrysalis. I kiss my pain because it makes me real. I take it everywhere with me, because in the back of mind I will never stop loving it. Growing with it. Letting it flow like a river of stars from my pupils. I will devour it whole and float in the saline lagoons of its innards. I will fester the rot, let it grow like algae to my walls. I will keep seeking it out. Even when flesh fills the gaps. Even when my bruises become a meadow of mauve hyacinths. Because my pain made me.

＊*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚ ˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚＊ ＊*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚ ˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚＊

Some Housekeeping🧸🧸:

I know I have been absent for about 20 days or so, but it will all be worth it because of the next post. Expect to be fractured, numbed and Ocean Vuonged by a 16 year old! Welcome to all our new subscribers, I hope you felt something.