Even in the rain the blood on my sneakers clung to the slipping laces. It had gotten to the point where red was painted in the creases of my wrinkled nose.
Bothersome scarlet rivulets trailed behind me, a noticeably darker shade then the cherry nightmare on my exposed lips. Not like you could see it anyway. Only when light crawled back to the slithering Sun, only under the veil of frightening darkness would I half-heartedly exist.
A monster, twisted on the pavement.
(Short story/experiment)
YOU ARE READING
The Spiral
PoetryA deep dive into thoughts about the universe, life, emotions and more, down an endless poetic(and sometimes not poetic) spiral. We follow various characters.
