Grounded

Naked. It’s the only feeling I’ve ever known. Exposed to the elements, my body lies as a nude testament to my vulnerability, arms cast out like wings upon the soil. I imagine what I must look like to the birds… a seal-skinned joke lying in their excrement, soaking up the sun. Kaleidoscope eyes struggle to touch the churning sky, and my hands dig into the earth. I’m grounded, but everything above me so effortlessly reaches the sky. Envy was never a feeling I took a liking to, and the promise of flight in the afterlife seemed as far away as the horizon. Swarms of flies orchestrate the decay underneath the oppression of this gravity, humming their malicious melodies through my mind. If our right to live exists above all other entities, why has this “god” forsaken us to be pasted to the floor? Our feet can lie with every step and tell us we’re going somewhere, and we’ll believe them. But the truth is, they’re just about as trustworthy as the hands we’ve used to kill in lives before us, so faith seems futile. These damned flies, these minute minions… capable of turning me into a withering pile of maggots within short days, their power is immeasurable. Our metal toys barely pierce flesh, but these shiny grains of rice consume us from the inside out. How god must laugh at this! A hollowed-out carcass, every ounce of power sucked from its lifeless body. Never to speak ill again, or cause harm to a neighbor, the vessel can be destroyed, only it’s black soul left to stain history. We’re obviously no different from our maker, and our sense of humor, as sinister as it is pleasurable, runs parallel to the sky, like the arrows to the heavens.

Grounded

cardiocentric

Charlotte, United States

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Artist's Description

A reflection on death and our place in the timeline

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