Dried As Parchment

I feel my skin crack and split as I watch dust seep from my old wounds in puffs of smoke. The gore that encrusted my skin long ago dried up and flaked off. I have to reach up with my left hand and wrench my shoulder back into place but I barely grunt and that only because I know it should hurt, although my nerves ceased to exist long ago. I put my hand to my back and start to pull the multiple daggers protruding from it free letting them clatter to the floor with hunks of dried flesh stuck to them. There is a slackness to my jaw and I can't make it move nor do I wish to. I get fully to my feet and take a few steps, then as if I was struck by lightening I come crashing to my knees. My body actually feels like it's on fire and I feel it rehydrate, blood pouring from open sores the discarded blades come hurtling back at me, plunging deep into my spine and ribs of my back. As my sight begins to darken my mind blurts out "Such a viscous cycle." and I collapse in a heap on the ground.