Peeling off layers.

Words by & illustration by Olivia Domingos

I have traded every limb for silence.

Instead of photographs, my pasts are cast

in scaly sheaths,

I dance for weeks at a time

before dying in another silk

and the warm-blooded,

wrapped in dead blankets,

with pelt stretched

over a whole life,

to me it is not right


don’t they love things that always are?

and isn’t that how it always is?

the endurance of a hide

before being found:

he claws out the muscle and rips off the skin

scouring for source

I do not even remember my maiden name,

nor the pattern of the scales on her back—

But I can leave my hides behind,

rushing over grass,

in my strange ulterior dance


bolt like a blunt knife,

dropping another negligee

but not revealing

that I too coil in fear

to sleep, alone, in a sacral knot.

Hannah Hayden is a writer based out of the eighth circle of hell. She takes delight in singing, the baroque, and the colour yellow. She is currently finding her personal brand and aspires to one day have a Wikipedia page.