DIVINE TREPANATION
A harsh, painful electricity is trapped within you, barging at the windows of your soul like a bird breaking its neck on a clean glass window miles into the sky, swirling down
Or like a lunar moth, mouthless, yearning for the fuck or the fire to die after only one moonset, or sickly midgeflies covering your salted sea soulhouse.
The pressure is unbearable. Don't you wish to be free?
The wall looks like the perfect divine countertop to crack an egg on. Wouldn't a sanguine blood splatter be darling decor?
Enough blood to drown the world? Steam blasting from your wounds, finally free?
And yet, you know you cannot. The pressure must remain inside you. Your body is not yours, it belongs to the judgement of those you hold dear. You must walk this tightrope or fall into the sky to hell. You don't want to be bad forever do you? Real Humans are as disposable as a bloody tampon, don't you know?
Toil. You will emerge as a red streak across the sky.
