the mist lingers like a cloying imitation
of life between the two limbos i\'ve created
real or not real
home or sea
it disorients me, like colours splaying beneath my fingers, leaking from my nails like a grotesque show-and-tell show
not the dry mud or the cracking grime; no; the muscle
not blood, not fat, not water; nerves
nerve and muscle, intertwined, interlapped
fluttering inside, begging to rip itself out, crashing at the shell i\'m encased in like seafoam lapping against crashing cliffs
it wants out
it wants its own body
it\'s something i\'ve experienced before
when i didn\'t own hands, either