When I was younger
and more naive,
I’d try to stitch my skin.
Suture it back together
like patchwork.
But it never stuck.
Always tearing back open,
eventually I got tired.
I decided
to rip it fully through.
My skin comes apart
in sheets
—stem to stern—
torn straight down the seams.
I step outside my skin.
Extracted from
my fleshy walls
it once called home.
The wind picks up,
and my skin begins
to drift…
floating away into mortal mist.
I grab on.
Tether myself to my own demise.
Devoid of identity—
its hands begin to tie.
Upon touch,
my skin turns to ash.
My flesh begins to burn.
It yearns.
For the scarred patchwork,
the wrinkled fabric of home.
Art title
Paradise Lost
Artist
Artist’s statement
Digital art, painted in Krita; the final project for a class discussing Milton. I have never been able to shake the imagery of falling upwards.
Stem to Stern
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