Photo by Sofia Rotaru on Unsplash
Lord, look not upon my lacerations
(Are You there? Are You angry?)
My spirit shrivels into scales of sin, paradise denied, tongue split, head punished, bruised, barred
(Elohim, do You dare depart from me? Emmanuel, please, do not depart from me.)
No, I must devour the dust from which you made me.
The cherubim, his sword scalds the inside of my slitted stare, lids lost, so I flay his face off mine, and shed the shame with my skin.
About the Creator
Wen Xiaosheng
I'm a mad scientist - I mean, film critic and aspiring author who enjoys experimenting with multiple genres. If a vial of villains, a pinch of psychology, and a sprinkle of social commentary sound like your cup of tea, give me a shot.
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