there is one who watches over you

my dear vesuvius, you’re overdue on eruption: tiny screw still
turns into the frame of our body, we’re deconstructing though
true will hovers above; it is compassionate & sage.

it’s when we speak i hear crows lodged in your throat rasp out,
unaware you forgot to postscript the future, blissfully pompeii.

fear itself frightened sinks talons deep into your larynx; a sore
throat makes you tremble towards death, speak hoarsely about
specter kids who stalk from around corners, toying you with
hypotheticals until you’ve gotta test the placebo effect of suicidal
ideation for yourself,

right back to scarceness of childhood bedrooms where you’d rest
your head on some god’s eyelids, sleep to dvd menus & train
sounds as they pooled into one great ocean at her feet. there, you
are free from trying, held only to self-made standards though time-
clouds weather, oftentimes more scalding than lax.

nowadays, do you still wish to flee? two tickets purchased because
i’ll probably go, too, palm your remainders into my pockets then
head for the door, notice a shadow break inches of light through
the keyhole: maybe you were right about us always being watched.

jp thorn is a queer, neurodivergent artist & 2026 best of the net nominee. raised in & returned to the bible belt, they advocate for destigmatization & radically open communication with work inspired by humanness, reframing traditionalism, therapeutic processes, unlearning patriarchy, identity, & global patterns. you can find more of their them at www.thorn.jp