To this favor.

Drawn out, withered muscles
struggle to find strength.
Veins trace their way across
parched, translucent skin.
Here is the essence of a person
laid bare, anatomised.
Life preserved, dried, made strong.
A whole being reduced to
one slow, concentrated movement.

Fierce, fixed concentration
struggles through pain,
labouring to do what once came easily,
with unnoticed skill.
Hunted, angry eyes
stare out from a private place.
A hidden wealth of knowledge
fights fiercely from the core of its being,
still vibrant, wanting to live.

“Now get you to my lady’s chamber, and tell her, let her paint an inch thick, to this favor she must come. Make her laugh at that.”
Hamlet. Act 5 Scene I

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