(no subject)
It is like an oyster shell, marbled grey and ivory and a red so dark it appears black. Layers curve in little ripples around the edge. It smells, ever so faintly. Not of blood or medicine but with the nauseating aromatic of raw poultry. It is larger than a quarter in diameter, and pocked like craters within craters on the moon's surface. It is dull and cottonish on the nerve endings - the slice of my finger that I zested off while baking pies last week hurts more often and more sharply. It is ruining my sense of self.