Opium
Fiona Mackay

Opium

Writing within a stream of consciousness is tough to read at last. It’s the moment that you discover your true-self; sans filtre. No pretending. Actions without second guessing, automatic tics are part of the process. Realizing how cruel, idiotic but pure and infantile you can be, that’s when you enter the tunnel of full-frontal. A real confrontation.

Your reflection in the mirror gets so close.
Your eyes meet your eyes. Your nose touches your nose. Your lips on your lips. It’s disgusting. So close that you see your own breath.
Repulsed by your own scent that continues to linger. Should it ever leave?

It’s fantastic. The everlasting presence of your ego. Reading distinct features makes you a pure narcissist, never wanting to leave your own body, forever and more.

I love this nasty, nasty hundred degree burn that might scar me for the rest of my life.
It hurts, it stinks, it stings too.
I don’t ever want to leave.

Get closer, sit, sit in front of me. Praise me,
pierce a hole in me. Peep inside. Make me scream, I can’t do it on my own. Give me your hand.
Hate me, spit on me.Scent, spent all over your face. Now, lick it please.

Me, nude, you didn’t ask for this. Visibly shaking and trembling. Caressed with fear, but whipped with vulne- rability. Now, love thy tender.

Seven seconds, the bells will ring. Meet me on the church steps.
Seven minutes in heaven, lock me in your closet. But with this lock, I am the key.

It was nice knowing you.
God knows why all the stars are aligned.

/ Won Jin Choi

05/06/2021 – 05/28/2021

From Wednesday to Saturday 2:00 p.m. – 6:00 p.m

3 rue des pénitents bleus, 13001 Marseille