by Amanda McLeod
Dead jellyfish float
transparent
in the void
below my rib cage,
invisible echoes
of unforgotten
pain.
Ghostly tentacles,
trailing translucent threads
of agony
against my lungs,
my heart,
drinking my oxygen,
taking up space left
for breathing,
diaphanous,
penetrating.
I wrap myself in this
cellophane,
unseen suffocation,
extra gloss
doesn’t hide suffering
but shows
no cause.
Amanda McLeod is an Australian author and artist. Her words can be found at Mookychick, Pussy Magic, The Cabinet Of Heed, and elsewhere; and she is the assistant editor at Animal Heart Press. When she’s not immersed in words, she’s usually looking for solitude in quiet, wild places. Connect with her on Twitter @AmandaMWrites.
(And don’t miss Amanda’s The Artist Studies the Effect of Sadness on Her Own Face. – Elephants Never)