salvation; rot

written by ella | literaryinterlude

This piece has been published in the literary magazine Labyrinthine. You can follow and read the magazine here.

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picked skin between toes knows no bounds when you're fighting the fever. has the blood in your lungs coagulated as mine has? I will kneel and allow the rocks to indulge in flesh if you promise to read me your prayers -

let your sins crawl under my skin, and I will pick and scratch and ooze and remain diligent that I can wring them from my fingers. where exactly do love and religion intersect? is there a manual? - 

hollowed antlers mounted over the fireplace play tricks on my psyche, and I believe I am holier than thou. you see, I speak in my grandmother's tongue, though it has been dirt-deep for over a decade - 

one cannot simply understand the mechanics of devotion until they have faced the sanctity of the divine. purge your hedonistic ways, for there is no salvation for your rot. you spit your confessions, and I lap them up - 

it is 4:27 a.m., and I am vomiting salvation into porcelain, unsure of where it, or I, will land. I am made of bile and angry bones; nothing less. watch now as I drag the rosaries from my throat but remain baptised in your sins -  

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My utmost appreciation goes to Beatrice “Bea” Basa (they/she/any), founder and editor of Labyrinthine, for allowing my piece to find its home amongst their journal.