Flesh and mind, Wrapped tightly yet loosely, I feel the sag of tissue, And the coarse push of bone, A finger plunges into the sag. Nails clatter on ribs, My innards echoing relentlessly, Nails slice shallow, My nerves twitching implicitly, The foundation is wrong. A bird call in the distance, My eyes peruse its perfect proportion, What god makes monsters and men alike, And subjects each to relentless contortion, What god cloaks its child so insultingly. I am returned to the mirror, My form again lit, The woes have faded, Light where darkness once lay, And my skin sleeps inside my soul once again. No old gods to take from me, The truth of who I am.