Entryways

By Josh Sczykutowicz

I can’t allow light to penetrate this shroud. Every crack, every hole, every opening for air and light to flow through doubles as an entryway—an entryway for something to crawl inside, to get its fingers reaching in until too much has entered and there isn’t space left for me.

When there’s not enough room for me to fit inside, then whatever has invaded will absorb so much of all I am. When it leaves there’ll be more parts missing; scars will begin to form. But it’ll leave with pieces of me, and I’ll be with it, these fragments scattered beyond.