• Vol. 04
  • Chapter 08


Etched corners
Frame my fragility
Water cutting through layers
[Bulldozer precision]
The cold sheen of translucent scales reminding me;
I am here.
I am still here.

I can taste myself.
Cold fronds slap their support over my face
[My sensorium]
Measuring time in pulses of entropy
My teeth a series of sundials.
I'm slowly falling apart
But I'm here
I'm still here.