Waves

The incarcerated man rolls his eyes to the back of his head. He takes two of his fingers, sticks them into his mouth, down his throat and into his stomach. Puncturing through the wall, he pulls at the blue bands of light mired in brown ichor. Radiant gossamers and vibrating pink tendrils surround his knuckles. With a quick wrench and rip he withdraws his catch back through the rent in his gut. Up the esophagus. Out his mouth.
With a shiver, he blinks his eyes forward and looks at the things in his fist. His teeth ring in the wave.