[innards]

guts must be spilled, reasonings must be explored.

[poetic gore, body dissection & angst]

…

how deeply must i introspect?
cause & reaction,
an endless chain
– truly a pain to dissect.

must i lay myself bare,
cut myself open, glance inside?

gloved hands reaching within,
rearranging bones, tearing muscle tissue,
how the actual hell am i
supposed to resolve this issue?

or will the answer seep out?

red rivers of recognition.

blood streaming down the biting metal
– the table i’ve settled upon.

iron-scented realization.

does awareness crawl over one’s skin?
thousand needles pricking,
stabbing what isn’t the solution.

deep into my skull,
decisions are drilling.
and through their aftermath
there it goes trickling:

the intangible
explanation
of who i am.

paths spanning the unknown
like arteries and veins.
once they split open
(gnawing my lips like a lion would a bone)
will i find those aims?

on deciding my future,
by dissecting my innards
– does the past prophesy
where my path leads?

guts must be spilled,
for this truth
to be instilled.

---

wrote this at 3 am,

plagued by decision fatigue and existential dread :)