Call Me Monster

Shards of jagged glass puncture skin and tear at the rind, ripping the decaying flesh from its core. The host of the pathetic excuse of a meat sack takes no notice, for pain is of the past. Everything is in the past, the lie a whisper in frigid breath.

Can you see her yet?

Patches of disguise give way, a steady flow of crimson regret pool below. Pieces of an unfinished puzzle break apart and fall to the floor, knowing they will never fit together again in quite the same way. The picture of the final puzzle was never a privileged bestowed as each passing day took away piece by unfit piece.

Can you see her yet?

Stitches of a worn away skin suit can no longer be mended, muscle and bone support the facade no more. Scars and memories replaced our innards shouting, “Go Away,” to all those that roam near. Are the words etched in bone enough for you to read between the lines?

Can you see us yet?

Jumbled edges pile atop one another never to see reassembling day. The threads are bare, the body has been stripped. Naked to the eye, vulnerable to the elements. With no structure to provide support, the remains begin to wither. What is left will fade, what is remembered will be forgotten.

Can you see me yet?

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