Emotional Prose

Then, inching towards a sullen state, a dark and vast abyss opens, consuming the road ahead, plunging all into an empty, fathomless chasm. Saddened yet aware, the scream of descent echoes off the distant walls, reminding. Into the frigid air of breathless dark, penetrating chill advances on once supple flesh. A twirling, tumbling decay like so many insects ensnared in webs to be feasted upon later, the tumult goes on. Unrecognized, unappreciated and inherently deluded, the spiral plummets to new, frigid depths of denial. With only the bottom of suffering to relate, the empty hiss disposes, loathes, resents only. A predator of wrongdoing in the deepest recesses of regret disembowels, eviscerates and consumes. Leaving only a smattering of resin, the digested supplicant is no more. Faded hopes nothing more than a bloody smear on the forgotten cave wall where no one can see.

Bass Diary

Dear Diary,

I ate a worm that I found. It was food. Then I went in the reeds, but some one else was in there.

Birds kept coming over and looking in. I don’t like them. I try not to move until they leave. Nasty birds.

That man came again. This time he had a noisy thing that he kept throwing at us. Many said it was a fish, but I knew it was not. It was making sounds and several others did not like it. We knew it was not a food, and I kept telling them. This man is an idiot, ignore I’m and he will go away.

Later, I went in the reeds again and there was another worm and a mayfly on top. Now I’m full.

We all talked, and decided to splash water on the man next time he comes. He’s stupid. He will never catch us.

Tomorrow I think I’m going to eat some more, and laugh at me man when he comes in the morning. What stupid thing will he try next? Who cares, he’s dumb. Hahahahahaha!

-{===|]

Beneath

Beneath the charred and crusted flakes of skin, a fetid consumption invades. Devouring vital, surging flesh, rendering choking bile and gushing pain, oozing from copious, savage tears. Scouring within boiled burning the frenzied fever rushes writhe in twitch and scream. Twisted in agonizing knots over pools of bloody ruin, spilling, splattering. Mired in the filth of excess, the stink clings and saturates. Hanging and beading like delicate droplets, the piss vile liquid smell of wasted life dwindles as the meat of essence is their feast. Disillusioned, shattered, mired, erased. The thick, gloppy resin of putrid decay sinks into every pore, closing out the light, stopping the clock forever. Gushing foul vomit and the effusive fluid of death, the punctured, eviscerated body is left for the maggots. The carrion of progress is chum for the feast of lies.