A poem
There is a design to the damage of this body,
a map inscribed with memories
seared into the skin.
Raised welts and ridges,
canyons of scars,
cavernous pits of loss.
Each a chaotic tributary
bleeding into the next,
flowing into a vast delta
of wounds I could not staunch,
leaking, spilling over.
Unconstrained anguish
carving deeper crevices, cracks
spreading like fractals
through my viscous self,
hardening into immutable truth.
I am composed of fissures,
spiderwebbed, spiralling out,
branching infinitely inward,
verdant with poisoned fruit.
Pick one, they all lead back
to that primordial rupture,
the quantum singularity
from which I endlessly expand,
ever unravelling,
replicating patterns of pain.
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