Content Warning: Body Horror Imagery

Spread me, stretch me on your table,
a constellation on a wooden sky
charted with needles, pierced with eyes
until my every organ’s labelled.
Sternum shattered, stares tear me. To
slice, stab, and slash out slabs of steak
and fine fillets, blades flash and make
mince-meat of me. “How much,” they ask you,
“for one pound of flesh?” You make quick reply.
Every minute is pocket money
before I’m clammy, rotten, runny,
with an entourage of flies.
Post-mortem, I’m a black hole hauling
you all into my wake.

Watch my maggots crawl.

Lillian Hochwender (they/them) is a chronically ill writer and visual artist residing in the American Midwest. Their work spans many genres and often explores embodiment, mortality, and identity. They’ve been published by the likes of Doll Hospital Journal, The Color of Always: An LGBTQIA+ Love Anthology, and The Southwest Review.

Bluesky: @ligerlillie.bsky.social
Instagram (inactive): @ligerlillie
Twitter (inactive): @ligerlillie
Website: ligerlillie.portfoliobox.net