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
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