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a space for youth writing on mental health & identity
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a space for youth writing on mental health & identity
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![]() [content warning: mentions of blood] staring in to the dwindling twilight like an unavoidable traffic signal at the crosswalk, I feel it coming. bandaged to the side of the bed, a petty fetal semicircle with a heating pad enveloped in lumpy, pandemic ballooned- fat chunks. I breathe.
breathe to see if it’s a fake dream sequence from a movie. intestines, needling the brain hormonal shards shooting anomalies cupid’s arrow of chemical love. No. the swathes of dried blood are indeed not a prop from a medical drama. I examine. every inch of the bedsheet, my shorts, my dad’s face for a clue to see if there are more stains. he brings chocolate, looks of helpless appeal, more chocolate. he is tired, eyes want sleep, I should have endured more, chocolates and painkillers could have waited. how novel an idea, a Martian concept of pain that the male anatomy can never decipher. of blood bleeding not from wounds, not from wars, not by convention. but war it is. somatic emotional endocrinological. variegated bruises bloom, scanty tributaries leaving damp prints, tie-dyed shapes of vaginal sap seeping into the clothes, into the thighs. five nights in a row. I endure, as starry-eyed creatures’ fish in and out of consciousness. dream, the dream of an effervesced existence, draped in dune, a pantomimist staging a nightly farce drenched in red. Comments are closed.
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Unless otherwise noted, all pictures used are open-source images in the public domain. Archives
September 2023
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