Swallowing Eventually

 I used to try to solve them. Little puzzles full of blood and bone. A fever of questions desperate to be asked.

I would let my touch linger on the thinness of their rage. Tattered dolls furiously pulling at their fragile plastic seams.

The simple monsters and the complex ones, all but interchangeable, as I catalogued their decaying fangs. 
 
Their bodies like wet paint. Staining everything.

I stopped asking their names. I didn't need to know them anymore. 

The promises we broke and those we kept, all useless just the same. 

Our bodies trembling ladders going softer the higher that we climbed. The spoiled math of expectation Our pockets heavy as we finally found our apex. The height from which we must fall.

Counting. Always counting. What, we know not.

Chewing on the glass. 

Feasting on the cuts.

Choking on what might have been.