A Musing

Oh, the wound!

What a poor soul am I,

rubbing the ammonia and smelling salts

and what horrors inherited from mother,

rubbing it across what was once my chest!

What dolt does such a deed to his own flesh and blood,

not even his kin, not the apple from the tree, but the root to the bark!

Such a misfortune,

disabled at his own hand.

What god would make this soul in His own image?

Bruised on his interior by grief of love,

bruised on his exterior from nothing but lust --

though he dies to say it, the muscle memory of his vocal chords, completing the act with punctuation of "I love you."

Where does his inside become his out, and vice versa?

When does he wash his hands of his own wretchedness? Burning sulfur in the cuts?

And now he does not but muse,

such anachronistic language,

writing of his sorrow as though it is anything to write about.

About the Author

Corin Destefano is a second year Art Education/Illustration major. He has been in the Cabaret, Rocky Horror, and Murder Mystery productions at Arcadia since his first year, and is proud to be Cabaret's current Vice President. Corin works at the Spruance Gallery, as a Because Arcadia blogger, and as a Student Program Ambassador for Arcadia's art and design field. Corin holds a special place in his heart for drawing, writing, playing and listening to music, and for his friends and family -- including his birds, dogs, and his cat.