I wish I didn't write in riddles

I read writing that is clear and bright and open, like water. It overwhelms me. I feel so connected to the person writing, wanting nothing more than to get to know them. It's like my soul reading their soul free from language. And then I remember how words come to me—the tangled way they leave my lips is the same way they crawl onto the page. I write vines. I write dead things. Things that even if alive are never perceived to be. I write seaweed. I want to write the sea. I want to write spiderwebs because they are patterned and ornate and beautiful without losing their clarity. They are translucent and the threads are light. I write cobwebs aged in attics. Bent by dust and fallen bodies, they have no structure. I write corpses without skeletons.