Phosphophyllite
How many pieces of yourself can you lose before you're not you anymore?
My legs are agate.
My arms are gold.
And my memories are disappearing with my pieces.
Cinnabar. A red poison. Padparadscha. Full of holes, like my memory. The ocean…
I look up. Wait. What's the ocean?
I suppose I won't realise when I'm no longer me — because I'll only forget myself if I shatter.
But until then, I'll carry my sword and keep fighting.
A black spot blossoms on the horizon. I smile slightly.
Because what else can I do?