Moving in circles laughing at all those words I cannot spell.
Scraping myself off the mattress every morning. Peeling off skin. Cysts and sores. Hallucinations of a walking corpse consuming undead flesh. Losing a staring match to a pair of dead, red eyes. Fatigue and decay. Echoes assault endlessly.
If it was only just a word.
Paralyzed by thoughts of tantalizing lies. The horror emerging from the core - the home between her thighs. I moved into a trench dug by broken fingernails. Sitting alone in the corner where the strobe lights remind me to wash my mouth. Wasting away. Rehearsing lines for a play I regret signing up for.
The phantom sits across a mile long table. Spectral tentacles engulf my eyes, so I cut them out. The smell of roses fill my nostrils, so I rip them off. I grasp for its breasts, so I cut off my fingers. I try to scream, so I swallow my tongue. The lines flood my brain, so I turn it off.
Alone in the void, I pretend to forget the words.
