Basil

piercing every last inch of woven threaded fibre, scorching the veil,

rupture from within, piercing my soul, my body, the hanged man.

crucified for sacrifice; onto thou shall life precede in distortion -

languid mirrors, angry angels, dripping hallways, bloodstains.

from time to time, I fall into lapses of instability, blackouts…

in those fine lines of twilight times, my eyes well with fear,

for those tears so many moons ago - shards of my youth.

the times before I knew what true horror was:

it marks places & people caught in crossfire,

in the midst of some tragic crisis of pain;

the point at which gristle begins to grow,

forming the acrid tissue, the necrotic rot.

identity is attachment, for our genes dictate fate;

& it's within the deformation of my frail horns,

that I choose to heal, my voice unwavering,

as I'm holding back the tears, pain, agony;

it's excruciating, the weight of my rotten branches -

branches which grow from the roots of my family tree as tragedy.

each angular dissonance is another rejection of felt experience;

Flourish in Radiance