She told me that I was unclean - my body was unclean - my mind, my soul, my very being and the things I touched were unclean.
On days when the only things I kiss and hold were my bedsheets, and the piles of books that pass through my hands usually only deposited in my brain, she, upon looking on my cathartic body and sullen face, would instruct me on my body - that it was a rotting corpse, forever smelling, decaying, foul and uncouth. The lesson was to force me to bathe, to move, because, she said, it seems to be the only way to keep my shell of a corpse alive. I think she meant for me to refocus my energy on matters that are outside of me, especially that of my outward appearance, because it required discipline and an attention on matters that weren't so deep or internal.
But now I walk feeling like the very air touching me changes the textures and purity of my complexion. The ground I touch saturates into my pores and mingles in my blood, tainting it into a vile serum. I breathe toxins, cough out death. I have become the very decay that I have internally feared, and she had given me the notion of dying while living.
The duality in itself is beautiful,
but as I am emBodying it, one who is transitioning into death only wants what's coming.
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