[EP9] Between Worship and Sweat

A body undone by words it never wrote

[Scene opens with Casper standing at the head of the long, worn conference table. His posture is rigid, arms crossed, brow furrowed like he’s been holding back for hours. There’s a crumpled piece of paper in front of him—stained, slightly torn, edges curled. The lights are too bright for the room’s mood. Everyone else files in slowly. No one knows why they were summoned.]

[Note: The following poem excerpts are from "Masochistic Grief" by Morana in Chaos. Used with reverence and credit.]

CASPER: [low, venomous] Who the fuck left this on the table?

[The others glance at each other. No one speaks. Casper glares.]

CASPER: Well? Who left this here. Like trash. Like it was nothing. Like a fucking receipt.

DION: [cocking an eyebrow, reclining in his chair] What? Left what? Chill the hell out, Cas.

[Casper slaps the paper against the table.]

CASPER: This. This poem. This invocation. This blood-drenched masterpiece.

TREVOR: [measured, arms folded] No one knows what you’re talking about. We didn’t see anything. What poem?

[Casper stares them all down. Then, slowly, he reads aloud. His voice flattens into reverent heat.]

CASPER: [reading aloud]
"I fuck myself to every lie
your want
your guilt
your soft
'don’t die.'"

[A long, heavy pause. Artie stops moving. Lenny’s jaw tightens. Cyril leans forward, breath held. Nels immediately turns to Artie and reaches out, covering the boy’s ears gently with both hands.]

NELS: [soft, protective] He shouldn’t be hearing this. These words are soaked in decay. In lust. In death. They are too adult, too desecrated. He’s not meant for this kind of rot.

CASPER: [sharp, without missing a beat] He is meant for it. He needs to feel this ache too. Even if he doesn’t understand it. Let him hear the truth. Don’t steal that from him just because you’re scared of what it might stir.

[Nels lowers his hands slowly, eyes downcast. Casper looks to Artie.]

CASPER: This is what real pain sounds like when it’s told honestly.

ARTIE: [quiet, locked in] Read the rest.

[Casper’s eyes flick up. He reads. Not performatively—ritually.]

CASPER: [reading aloud again]
"I soak in sorrow,
I’m wet from cries
my pulse aligned
with all you hide."

[The room exhales as one. No one looks each other in the eye.]

CYRIL: [carefully, voice low] There's something almost... sacred about that line.

DION: [soft laugh, eyes wet] Yeah. I'm sweating through my robe.

KURT: [wiping his brow, confused] Did she just say "I fuck myself"? Why is the AC not on? I'm burning up.

TREVOR: [mutters, not looking up] Thank you, Kurt. Your insight is as subtle as ever.

LENNY: [squinting, procedural] The stanza structure is consistent. The line length and break choices suggest intentional breath pacing. The rhyme is constrained but uneven, deliberately offset to provoke tension. There is a mathematical elegance to the chaos. Whoever wrote this understands meter at an instinctive level.

CASPER: Exactly. You feel it, right? It's not just lust. It's grief giving itself permission to cum.

[He looks down again. Reads more.]

CASPER: [reading aloud]
"Your hands reach out
to phantom thighs
your prayers dissolve
in lonely cries."

CASPER: [still reading]
"I spread,
I arch,
I drink you in
my heavy loss
against your win."

[Another wave of silence. Trevor’s chest rises, slow. Nels mutters something unintelligible under his breath. Artie presses his fingertips together like he’s measuring something.]

ARTIE: [softly] Ooo... I could paint this.

DION: [sarcastic laugh] Paint what, exactly? Her riding grief with her legs spread?

TREVOR: [sharply] Dion. Enough.

ARTIE: [still focused, hands sketching in the air] Not her. The moment. Like... the ground opening beneath people. Not violently. Just... softly. And they fall in like they were always meant to. I'd paint that.

CYRIL: I... understand that image more than I want to.

[Casper smooths the paper flat.]

CASPER: This is staying on the wall in the hall right between the chapel and the gym.

LENNY: May I ask why that location?

CASPER: Because it belongs between worship and sweat.

[He pauses. Then adds quietly, almost under his breath.]

CASPER: I’ll probably light a candle under it every day for the rest of my life.

[The others collectively groan, not mockingly, but like they knew it was coming. No one objects.]

End Session.

Inspired by the voice of another. You know who you are.🖤