if eye could see the darkened room, it might look toward the day. to know a fate is torturous, so we look the other way.
if nose could know the rancid air, it may not want to stay. the driftwood scent: the death. the wet. it carries fear through veins.
if hand could feel the cobwebbed walls, it might not guide the way. lost in webs that came pre-spun, hoping spiders stay at bay.
if ear could hear such wretched cries, it would reject the sound. but a gift from those too scarred for lies is how their love abounds.
if tongue could taste the stale, cold breath, it would utter 'turn around.' until you listen to this voice, you'll find yourself unwound.
About the Creator
kp
I am a non-binary, trans-masc writer. I work to dismantle internalized structures of oppression, such as the gender binary, class, and race. My writing is personal but anecdotally points to a larger political picture of systemic injustice.
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