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Written: August 14, 2025, for Contest Sponsored by: Anoucheka Gangabissoon ******* I writhed in the womb of a necrotic hush, a stygian silence where barghests lurk— My slack-jawed soul, sodden with oblivion lull, clanged against the obelisk of despair. The wound, a molten mouth of aurora, sizzled with sacred suction— a fipple of fire, ineffable and fecund, where pestilence pirouetted with puissance. I danced—yes, I danced— in the desiccation of my demise, a gavotte of soulfulness, My blood is a rubicund aria of rapture. Alabaster bones bore the torque of truth, Each fracture is a triptych of ephemera and flame. I was a poltergeist of my former self, grappling through the noosphere multivocal maze. The stench of bygone hexes clung to lava rock, But I, stalwart and sinewed with mettle. careened past the clamor of puerile pabulum, past the gossamer glamor of grief. I was broken—yes— but bold enough to resuscitate, to regale the necromancy of my rebirth, to supplant sorrow with the sacred sizzle of self. Now I stand, an empyrean echo, a veridical vestige of velvet versatility— my heart, a burnished niche of noble hope, My spirit resembles a smooth, celestial sunset. Let the world scrutinize my scars, They are not grotesque—they are garrulous. They speak in tongues of alchemy and amaranthine ache, a quixotic quiddity, a quintessence of comeback.

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