Soft... But prickly now, bristling, what are those... Hairs? Lifting themselves up, upright, off the surface of you, flesh, in any and every spot that their existence permits.
Twitches. Below the skin, now. Twitch, twitch, twitch, shiver... Under your earlobes, inwards, past the drums, jaw muscles tremble, orchestrating the delicate chattering of white, calcified dentine... Teeth?
Bristles on the outer upper half of your left arm are soothed, calmed, felt by something. A hand... Your hand, up, down, up, down, and the left returns the favor to the right, wrapping you in your own struggling embrace. It's not enough. Ante lucem, there is no warmth to be had.
YOU ARE READING
Time - A Simple Passing
RandomCaught between a poem and an experiment with no hypothesis~
