Unfinished Exit
I opened my skin
like a door to nowhere,
expecting silence—
only to find myself
still breathing in the ruins.
The blade was a priest
that never gave absolution,
only sermons in red ink
that dried into scars.
I begged the blood to carry me,
to flood me out,
but it pooled at my feet
and left me standing
in the wreckage of my own body.
I am stitched together
by failed goodbyes,
a monument of torn flesh
that refuses to collapse.
Even my destruction
denies me.
Even my death
will not have me.
