Death of a Nihilist [poetry]

02. molting

one day, his skin splits along the spine.

from the small of his back

to his skull:

an ugly vertical gape

—pink tendons and tissues pulsing,

foaming,

around sharp white vertebrae knobs.

a wound, different

from constellations of silver scars

and plateaus blackened bubbles

littering his chest, his arms, his legs.

from the chasm of his body, he emerges.

back and torso shifting,

bursting the gap wider,

breadth by breadth.

little by little.

the grotesque curl of his outline,

a stark contradiction to the shine

of spit dripping

from his pearly teeth,

of sweat spreading

from the crevices and crooks of his limp body.

as his limbs, his organs,

his head,

toes,

hands,

are finally freed.

from the confinement of his old shell,

screaming, kicking,

soft, bald, red,

like the day he begins

to no parents,

but another husk

of another him.

the babe,

the boy,

the man

sits,

born anew,

vulnerable and weak

without a single mark of life,

of terror,

of suffering.

yet, victorious and beautiful,

as ever. astride his old self.

⸻

molting: the manner in which an animal routinely casts off a part of its body, either at specific times of the year, or at specific points in its life cycle

prompt: a separation