Drinker of Ink

by Shannon Castleton

to dwell on the origin of pain is to become trapped in a loop—to circle the trauma as if in a semi-truck, until the tire grooves grow so deep, you can’t turn out to drive forward.

But I think my genes are stacked high against openness and even higher for self-infliction of pain. And also for generalized infliction of pain—on anyone who has hurt me.

So much happens to and inside every human being on this planet—it’s as if we are all small infinite worlds. And how do we connect? How do we come to see each other’s constellations?