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.
Copyright © Mark Matthews | Year Posted 2017
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