Scathe By Harris Noland
Paved over is the line between asleep and awake Shadows taunt the receptors of an appalled frame Limbs glued together with a dark velvet paste
Forced dormant, allowed only to see, nothing more The figure slowly creeps out of the darkness Floating through traps set to increase delay Sprinting now, something has stirred the mind of the beast One last glimpse caught before the transfer begins Pure, uncircumcised rage rips flesh from bone Repairing the damage with excrement of only the finest citrus Red corrupts the iris and soon the sclera Extensive tension lacking release makes for a delightful evening in hell A newly vehement current produces waves of a corrosive red Choleric existential agony forcing her way through a narrow tube She breathes in deep following each cage-rattling expulsion One too many marks the coming of the void
