Foggy tufts appeared, wisping out of her clothes. Small breaths, as if she'd been using an e-cig and hidden pockets of vapor snuck their way out later. She took off her sweater, and then her shirt. She took off her bra, and found gauzy orifices all over herself. As she moved, the fog puffed out of the holes, like small mouths blowing smoky Os.
Chunks of herself were releasing from her body, gassing out, moving on, letting go. It didn't hurt, and she stared at herself in a mirror. She took off her shoes, and pants. Small holes were on her feet, larger ones on her calves, the largest ones on her hips and buttocks. Naked, she moved her body this way and that in the mirror. She felt like a ghost, slowly disappearing.
Puff.
Puff.
Friday, November 6, 2015
Friday, February 6, 2015
The floor was hard. Her pelvic bones pressed against the hard wood, her ribs expanding against it as her breath moved in. Then out.
She felt her fingertips tingle as the oxygen moved through her. She moved nothing, except for what it took to pull the air in, then push it away. Her heels felt the cold of the wood, while it warmed under her calves and thighs.
With her hand laying across her chest, the curve of her breasts lifted and fell. Her mind was empty. There was only the white swirl of smoke above her, she pulled it in, and the pink and grey that she blew out. Silence, the deadened winter sound of snow.
Behind her closed lids, silky lashes, she saw a crack appear through the earth. A fault line had appeared, and her body shuddered, it felt so close. There was no 'real' or 'imagined'; visions were symbols for realities, and they were one. Her fingers drifted slowly across a crease in her skin. The small mole that had lived above her left breast was now gone, and a small rift lived there.
The smoky forecast of her breath unchanged, she pressed gently against the edge of the crease. Her fingertips eased inside, and where might once have lived blood, muscle and bone, she found only dust. Tiny plumes leapt up as the edge of the crease crumbled beneath her touch, mixing with the pink and white clouds above her. Breathe in, breathe out. Inhalation brought white smoke and the dust of herself. She didn't cough.
She felt her fingertips tingle as the oxygen moved through her. She moved nothing, except for what it took to pull the air in, then push it away. Her heels felt the cold of the wood, while it warmed under her calves and thighs.
With her hand laying across her chest, the curve of her breasts lifted and fell. Her mind was empty. There was only the white swirl of smoke above her, she pulled it in, and the pink and grey that she blew out. Silence, the deadened winter sound of snow.
Behind her closed lids, silky lashes, she saw a crack appear through the earth. A fault line had appeared, and her body shuddered, it felt so close. There was no 'real' or 'imagined'; visions were symbols for realities, and they were one. Her fingers drifted slowly across a crease in her skin. The small mole that had lived above her left breast was now gone, and a small rift lived there.
The smoky forecast of her breath unchanged, she pressed gently against the edge of the crease. Her fingertips eased inside, and where might once have lived blood, muscle and bone, she found only dust. Tiny plumes leapt up as the edge of the crease crumbled beneath her touch, mixing with the pink and white clouds above her. Breathe in, breathe out. Inhalation brought white smoke and the dust of herself. She didn't cough.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)