Your essence somehow doesn't match the thick crust crisping around your edges, I want...... I can't let go, except into lost moments.
I can feel my intestines slowly and carefully wrap themselves around my outsides. A shiver.
What a mess.
You are sinking into stone, folding into the interior. But still you stare blankly into space.
I lower my head further, not to break your gaze, empty.
You fill me up, but replace my insides with what? There am I, emptying my contents into that ridiculous pit.
I am afraid of the intimacy of no knowing, but am repulsed by not touching. I don't want to know.
I can only imagine. I find pleasure in this - futile amusements, stirring unknown substances into mine.
If only you could roll the rest of me out flat like a piece of pastry, putty, pretty much extending in all directions, pressed all up against an opposing plane. That is how to feel it.
Gastric juices popping through burst membranes.
What's left of my eyes are stuck on minute nodules, small warts, pimples, follicles....no....grit, grain, bit, speck.
Rub it in....go on.....exfoliate.
Remove impurities, and those dead layers.
What?... You are not my landscape.
Pick me out. Squeeze through that cone - listen to something relaxing, try to get deeper in - nearly there now, you are doing really well.
But there's nothing in there, or never was.
No, it's yours though - look what you could put in it, fit into it....room for movement.
It's so dark though.
Adjust your eyes.
There's never enough light.
But, you like it that way, fumbling across blind spots and corners, your hands on their own.
That way the subtleties....
Well, reveal, unfurl, but most of the moisture has been extruded now, I am not sure....no... I'm not.