Sad Labels:
sickness
nerves presumed dead suddenly erupt in a morose apocalypse.
the bone finds its way to the surface. though the flesh blocks its path. further digging reveals. the holes were always there.
it hurts. she'd almost forgotten the feeling. the lack of power. as it spreads. below the surface. turning that small cut into a wound that burrows much deeper.
the pain lives. mostly dormant, but always there.
the edge whispers. a curious seduction. ripe with rot and panic. a grim combustion of surrender and hope. ignites the truth.
the moments crepe. the angles obtuse.
most people are empty flesh. desperate echoes. lost in the grave hollows of their own loneliness.