Derelict. My voice cracked and yolk poured out. Wind chimes rigid, no breeze, no song. My wings found hidden in your suitcase. Pleas for help mistaken for a swan song. I'm stuffing pages from my journal down my throat as kindling. Hoping the smoke will get the taste of you out of my mouth. He looks at me from across the room and all I want is to push him against the wall. Ravage. Ravage. Carnage has never been more vogue. Is it still art if it doesn't bring you to your knees? Lover, let me prey at your altar. Let me bare my fangs in praise. Don't I look so pretty in a funeral shroud? I keep time with the click of my creaking bones. Dance with me under the milky translucence of a world suffocating. How did you find me? I buried myself beneath the cicadas. Is a girl trapped in glass still a prize?let me get under your skin. I want to know what your fears taste like. I want to consume.

calloused: a field journal