an instrument
“I’ll never walk again!” “I’ll carry you.” The hand, the agent of separation, has vanished into the past. I remain, contemplating the geography of my own back. I look intact. That is the primary deception. The surface is smooth, the skin unbroken, but it happened in the dark, without a sound. That dotted line, that black meridian traced upon my spine, sank inward. It is etched now into the myelin, a permanent longitude of division. I am severed along an invisible seam. Some days, the two halves hold together through sheer habit. I walk, I speak, I resemble the woman I was. Other days, the fault line slips, and the great continental drift of my own body begins. Energy leaks out through the unseen fissure, draining into an untouchable void. I become heavy with the weight of my own disconnection, an internal amputation. I live in the quiet aftermath of a private execution, holding the pieces of myself together, wondering which half of me will wake up tomorrow.


Thanks, this is simply artistic, i felt it raw and visceral, great work!
“Other days, the fault line slips,
and the great continental drift of my own body begins.”
That is amazing