It's hard to describe. The fibers broke like needles beneath me. A silent wall, so closely thin already on standby, so precious and so needed, broke in shatters of scars and razor blades. So important was this wall that it could be artificially sewn like a patchwork quilt long forgotten. Nightmares -- Awake and asleep they scream; a living boogeyman followed and calculated. Food the stench of decaying human flesh, twisting and forcing out of my innards. Watery eyes, oh so easy to fool -- Wait mom! I swear I saw him move! Finding dangerous love in a stealth-tongue and steel-hearted men; a month too much to show my worth. The fear of living after a death is scarier than the fear of life after death. Music of melodies no more to grace the tongue, stories of grief repeated through yellowed teeth again and again. So disappointing. So dull. Seeing my father cry, seeing strangers with exotic emotions angered me. A fire burned. It still burns today as I see people mock relentlessly the grip of death with each passing day. So childish.
It's been a year and a half mom, and I swear I saw him moving. Where is he?
"the sad truth"
said she
"he's not moving."
I can explain anything you need explaining.
