Work Text:
Sometimes I look at myself and I remember that my bones are physically touching each other every time I move.
The blood vessels inside me are twisted and knotted together, always pumping blood out from the heart.
My blood is always moving, it’s beautifully disturbing in some ways.
When I breathe, my lungs expand and move around the other organs that are always moving, when my stomach growls, my organs move.
I imagine is the bones made a sound while being in contact it would have sounded like forks against metal or chalk against a rock.
The word organs make me want to rip of my skin, carefully pull it off and put it on the side, tidy and clean. Not in the way I enjoy gore, it’s just that the skin is so overwhelming, it’s always there.
The way my nails are attached to my fingers, the way they grow even after your heart stops beating.
How the hair is growing.
I’ve never touched another human being, or anything in that matter.
You haven’t either, you can’t touch yourself, you haven’t touched nothing.
The atoms repel each other, you have never touched someone.
That is beautifully disturbing, or maybe it’s just disturbing, maybe even comforting.
Life is beautifully disturbing.