Translucency of My Skin
It’s a specific ache of a translucency.
When the void lays bare in the existential oblivion of a consciousness too far to reach.
When the light dims, energy draining the colours of my essence; shades of red metallising the shallow of my breaths.
When the fatigue tugs on my beauty spots. Each speck a black hole of invitation, a desperate grasp of a life thrown to the illusion of my shadows.
The glistening, teary craters smile at me.
Each glint of silver illuminating the rhythmic, pounding anticipation lying behind the cave of my voice box.
The craters were a testament to my survival.
They were a testament to my endurance.
A testament to my unwanted persistence; carved out of torment and ignited in anguish.
And I find, it is a specific ache of a cataclysmic triumph against the abyss of my own inevitability.
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