ink
Ink upon the darkness makes no marks at all. Scrabbling about in the shadows nails, bleeding, fall. Scratching at the doors to my own damnation, I call. Names of old, names forgotten, slithering, from my tongue, they fall. Fat, obese, they move upon the trails I've left behind. I beg them to stop, do not witness my thoughts, my crimes. But they continue, no heed paid at all. Those that came from the shadows eat me, my past. They eat it all. Slick with anxiety, I continue, appalled. Eaten, my fingers to the bone, I watch, enraptured, enthralled. This blood that erupts from my throat, leaves no marks, not even silence, upon these walls.