a blessed creature am i

i pick at my scabs like onion skin, peel away paper-thin layers of my body in the hopes that the answers will be written down somewhere secret and internal.

nothing has ever been easy for me, and this is no different. of course, i am a specimen to be examined. of course, i am a new type of horror.

all of the beasts i fear are real. they are a certainty. they are half of myself.

all i ask is that you look away when my ribs are split; my heart can take the elements, but it cannot weather your scrutiny. of course, i am performing well in laboratory studies. of course, i am causing widespread panic, enigma that i am.

nobody wants to save what they do not understand.

i scratch at the surface, pitted and pock-marked, like the imprint left after kneeling in gravel. i pull the pebbles and bits of broken concrete gingerly from my flesh, a saint twice living.

every shard is sacred now. of course, i am grotesque and unseemly. of course, i am holier than thou.

why do you weep? is it the sulfurous, noxious air that stimulates a nerve that prompts your brain to wet the surface of your eyes? is it all chemical, for you, all formulaic and true?

when my tears fall, it is because i am broken on the inside. somewhere in the depths of me, i hold a vial of something toxic and precious, and the glass is cracked, and the poison is leaking.

i have not been sick enough for long enough to deserve your pity. i have just begun to show symptoms. or at least, you have just begun to see them. that is what truly matters.

i am all dead skin and burned flesh and broken voice and lost cause. i am a prophet of the L-rd, a project, a protégé. She looks down on me with pride, calls Her sister to Her side, points me out and says Look. That one is mine.

a shiver skitters down my spine.

i lie awake and listen for the divine.