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A recorded reading of “Where My Face Once Fed the Light”. If the player does not load, use the original audio source.
They erased my face so something else could rise. Not a name, not a memory — just a red-wound eye of petals where my head once weighed the sky. A stalk split upward through collarbone silence, leaves curled like knuckles that never unclenched. I never asked to carry colour. It carried me — pushed through soft bone with pigment that bled into the body's quiet surrender. Now, I am stem and sentinel — my gaze sewn from velvet and void. This is not beauty. This is becoming, when identity ferments into something spined, unspeaking — but watchful. Even the dirt remembers what I was before I turned to light-fed silence.
Lyrics
They erased my face so something else could rise. Not a name, not a memory — just a red-wound eye of petals where my head once weighed the sky. A stalk split upward through collarbone silence, leaves curled like knuckles that never unclenched. I never asked to carry colour. It carried me — pushed through soft bone with pigment that bled into the body’s quiet surrender. Now, I am stem and sentinel — my gaze sewn from velvet and void. This is not beauty. This is becoming, when identity ferments into something spined, unspeaking — but watchful. Even the dirt remembers what I was before I turned to light-fed silence.
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