[venettaoctavia]

you will rest, my soul said,

you are being eaten alive

and it was me

it was the filth that creeps up on your bathroom walls unnoticed until its stench suffocates you one cold night.

I was all claws and no shape

formless

but I was still tearing

I tasted the blood

I drank it boiled

I took my own guts and twisted

and teeth came, with the rain

but entropy, but latent

something says hollow and

I think marrow being sucked out and licked

the marshlands will come

I am godless

I am brittle

sometimes the sun reminds me of glass

—Venetta Octavia, hear me shapeless