MEDUSA I
The house is my coffin.
Stone iron, iron stone.
I wanted to lie in it like an unborn child, having pulled my legs into my arms’ embrace.
But the low ceiling beat my hands with its stone iron, the worn-out floor stung me with its iron stones. I’m already born and I have to lie flat. Straighten your legs, stretch out your arms, and look with white eyes into the light.
I walked where I could. My body hit sharp corners, poles, and rods.
She-et2 metal.
she-et metal stones, stone metal she-et.
bruises on legs bruises on hands back
they didn’t beat me no
I ran into this myself.
Epithelium blackens, roughens, and shines with outgrowths. I stroke my legs – they are smooth. I caress my hands – they flake. My back curves in a serpentine pattern. I won’t turn blue from sadness anymore, I will glow with anger.
2 Wordplay sheet/shit implied.