I don't want to have sex because my body feels dead

Written By Helen Victoria Murray

after Tracey Emin

beige floor white bed

lies bleed one into the other in some sterile sort of way

as in, I used to be a cunt but now I am a diagram

rationalizing this neutral palette of a hole burst open

an abscess that fills weeps fills again

bleeding the air with words

no body-illusion left in these flat layers

in my sodden tissue, everything said of trace

thins distance, lines unassertively drawn depths 

an accretion of words needy across the canvas

and when we are post-sex is there anything left but space

and a body of work

Helen Victoria Murray is an interdisciplinary writer and researcher from Glasgow. Her work explores core themes of embodiment, materiality, and temporality. Her recent poetry publications have included Gypsophila Magazine, Wrong Directions from Typewronger Press, Sunday Mornings at the River, SpecPoVerse, Occulum, and Seedlings. For a full list of published works, please visit https://helenvictoriamurray.com/ or on Instagram at @HelenVMurray.

Helen Victoria Murray

Helen Victoria Murray is an interdisciplinary writer and researcher from Glasgow. Her work explores core themes of embodiment, materiality, and temporality. Her recent poetry publications have included Gypsophila Magazine, Wrong Directions from Typewronger Press, Sunday Mornings at the River, SpecPoVerse, Occulum, and Seedlings. For a full list of published works, please visit https://helenvictoriamurray.com/ or on Instagram at @HelenVMurray.

https://helenvictoriamurray.com/
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