Friday, December 22, 2006



Waiting for the fangs of time to sink into my vital veins, cutting off all supply. Hands are numb and are no longer able to draw my eyes open. The front of my head closes down with a slide of a bolt and a clang of metal that rings out across the floor. My Jawbone cracks and a zip slashes across my mouth.

Now I am thrown across a cold table, casually discarded, hands, elbows and feet over the edge. Then slapped to the ground. Gravity stamps on my stitched and bloody carcass as it flails about ridiculously on the floor.

Specks of rain hit the fire, sending sparks. Closer now, to burning in hell.

A hollow wind blows through the shattered glass. Rain flows with it, trampling steadily across the hallway and into my room, drenching the richly woven carpet, filling it up like a swimming pool, weighing the carpet down, threatening to submerge the carcass of meat. Some material underneath breaks and falls into the black, as if through a mirror, propelled like a magnetic lump of carbon into an endless pit. There, the other fallen lay about, some will never have left, the oldest now moulded into stones.

Acrid air eats into my constricted lungs. Grit grinds into my teeth to dust. My hair travels across the sand, held up by insects

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