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Monday, August 9, 2010

12. 1 – Threshold Avoidance

..the flesh of the dead, fresh...
That thought,
Chilling me to my core
Echoing through my tenuous grip on consciousness
Eliciting bile to rise from the dregs of my hollow empty stomach
I began to dry heave,
Though as tremble-y as I'd been up to this point
I doubt any of those present noticed the difference
Sick dread throbbing and growing, I began to feel desperate
Violent thoughts and images filled my mind,
Urges to commit the foulest of atrocities
Darkened visions of cleaving all in my path into bloody puddles of carnage,
My perma-rage brewing just below the surface of my pale skin,
The diaphanous blue tint sparking like static electricity,
Fury simmering, swirling, rising,
Forming slick beaded rivulets of sweat,
All clinging to my fevered skin
Like the cold dead fingers of the newly deceased men I would soon have to eat