Work Text:
the cave hums with dust,
a hymn of chisel & ache—
each strike a prayer,
each curl of stone
a vein i cannot name.
i shape him in the dark
until my fingers bleed ash,
until the mountain’s lungs
cough up his smile, his brow,
his eyes like twin eclipses.
(how dare i carve what i’ve never earned—
this mouth, this throat,
this collarbone i ruin
with my wretched thumb.)
ten thousand statues shiver,
as they watch me unravel,
a thread of want unraveling
at the altar of his shadow.
my hands—filthy, trembling—
drift where his stone hips dip,
where his thighs meet myth.
(what kind of beast kneels
to worship & desecrate?)
the statues whisper, crown him,
but i am no king—only a thief
of cold breaths, stealing warmth
from the hollows i’ve carved.
i press my cheek to his foot,
lips to the frost of his heel.
forgive me, i beg the dust,
for needing to touch
what my soul is too frail to hold.
night after night, the mountain weeps
salt into my wounds.
i fill the silence with his name,
a hymn sung raw,
while my body betrays me—
a shudder, a gasp,
a bloom of heat in this tomb of snow.
(disgust curls in my ribs, sweet & thick.
even the dead can hunger.)
oh, god who outshines the sun,
i build you again & again
to hide the rot in my chest.
each statue a plea:
see how i love you
in every language but mercy.
when dawn licks the cave,
i am hollow as the idols i paint
with gold i do not deserve.
yet still, i return—
a moth gnawing its wings,
a ghost kissing the echo
of a god who’ll never
crutch his spine
to meet my gaze.
(ten thousand statues,
ten thousand sins.
i’ll carve until the mountain
grows teeth & devours
this unworthy heart.
let it choke on me.)