Something split the skull before I could name it,
drove in at the temple,
punched out through the throat,
and the mouth came open
not to scream
But because the jaw had no reason left to hold.

The colors bled in with it.
Magenta where gray matter thought was.
Orange at the wound’s edge, already oxidizing veins.
Charcoal laid over suffocating
pressing down,
a body trying to clot
what cannot clot.

I did not invite this.
My door was shut.
But pain don’t care about doors.

Entered where thought lives
and exited where speech begins
and what is left between those two points
is whatever I am now
still faced forward,
still holding the shape of a body,
full of something unnatural
That will not leave.