Permanence 2019—
It’s hidden well underneath my eyes it turns black and darkens me. I imagine it spreads like black ink accidentally dripping into a glass of water. It’s soft at first, stays organized and strings itself through the water like wind carries leaves. It’s almost beautiful, as it continues to drip into a pour and floods the once clear, clean water with a thick permanence. It’s hidden but heavy, if I step into a pool I would sink like lead to the bottom. Opening my mouth to scream but water rushes in and fills my lungs and my shriek spumes to the surface popping and breaking into my voice as it finds air. If my pen didn’t find paper no one would know. They would only see the bubbles rise from a muck of swampy coarse water, Uneducated on the pure spring from where it originated. As I introduce me I can’t help feeling anything but Contaminated Cancerous Incapable of sucking the ink out of my own stringy mind, Ridding myself of the heavy lead, like bullet-scarred flesh.
Broken Glass 2022—
the sound of broken glass feels like a release when it hits my ears, as if the glass had simply grown tired of holding itself together against all that hard shit. exhaustively it gives way, it falls, it shatters into a million, distinct, yet unidentifiable pieces, glimmering in their new, inferior form, shards of what they were. the ringing of the defacing stops a room, and for a moment everyone lives in that space right there, where something just happened, and they share that. the hanging silence. then someone wipes away the mess, disposes of the evidence. and a few days later, or a week even— the light will catch something on the floor and bounce it back like the sparkle of a memory, misplaced still living in a moment of destruction.