No shaman,
Or witch doctor –
Can fix me.
A thing.
Broken,
Beyond the capabilities of man.
Cryptid,
Lost to void of space,
For years of development.
Driven mad by solitude.
This shell seethes,
With misfortune.
Swelling,
Boiling blood pressing on skin.
False selves,
Holding in leviathan realities.
Bursting at the seams,
As gargantuans spill out.
Massive creatures,
Shunted across dimensions –
To hide immense size.
Shoved inside a human,
Until it implodes.
Our truest selves spilling out,
Disasters gushing across the floor.
Some,
Tell us we aren’t broken.
Others,
Ensure we know;
That we are.
No Shaman, Or Witch Doctor – Can Fix Me.
