And his hand on my pallid forehead
A dead fish hand on pure stained ice
I cannot see his face but I imagine it might be expressionless yet kind.
The father, the guardian, the reaper
He will take me from here.
I shivered, teeth rattling and hairs raised
The taste metallic, a tiny drop of blood soaked the cotton.
My metal a thousand moons old.
A moss green sky crisscrossed with numbers that don’t matter anymore.
Oblivion is coming.
The edges of the room sucked hard into my lungs
Inhaling urgent lights and sterile air.
A sickly sweet freedom swallowed deep
And down the dark rabbit hole
A lost Alice in a blue smock and white stockings
Light fading to the door my hand can’t quite reach.
And then nothing.
Delicious, velvety nothing. Timeout

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