Something is bleeding into the world around me.
No, not even that, not precisely bleeding.
Cutting,
Through the world to get at me.

Shapes rifling through the fabric of reality,
Puncturing the invisible shroud
Viscous violence
Kicking at torn edges upon exit,

The universe reduced
To a stretched balloon
now broken
at the behest of some purposeful needle.

The skin reels back, a fitful tirade of embarrassment,
returning to form,
offended to have revealed
so candid a vulnerability.

Now released the shapes are no longer discernible,
Only defined by the nothingness found between
Conception and its birth.
How could I engage such a thing?

How would you engage it?
Unanswerable questions,
Purpose and articulation
The final answer for me.