Cracked Open

I show you my marrow. These are a few writing samples that express the feelings that I have regarding the creation of art. A little sloppy and raw, but at times, so am I.

This is my prose form of the artistic process:

My bones are blasted apart. Blackened and cracked, split apart, flames licking up the sizzling meat. The pen hiccups across the page that traps my sticky hand in the Louisiana air, thick and moist. A slapping in my tightened chest reminds me of my life, but I take another step. The pole is at my back and the tickle of a tick stands out on my neck. One more step, the ground will meet me or I will caress it as it darts past me. Gravel fills my lungs, I spurt as I try to breath like a Marine. Drowning in air, drowning in water, drowning in art, I drown and die. Gasping I claw at my throat, the tick falls. Heat, stoked, pushes me on- catharsis. Spilling onto the pages for you, for me, for the universe. Pointless and beautiful, I give all of myself to you with impossible arcs of electricity. Consume me and become full.

This is a poem form of the artistic process:

cracked bones-

shattered.

Sizzling,

Muscles and sinew

Moving me.

Ink dropping- skipping,

Hand stuck to a moist page,

Curling edges.

Unfolding-

Prose.

Straps through my chest,

Pulse rocks me

Gravel shifts,

Dust cascades out.

Water fills

The cavity of my being

I gasp-

Nails rip-

Bloody throat.

Stinging my eyes,

Tears-

For you.

I write for you.

For me.

The universe needs it.

It is pointless.

Be wary;

A burn.