Thursday, October 23, 2008

This is how he starts losing blood. A drop from each nostril on different days of the same week.

He's not positive how these things happened. A punch to the face mixed with high altitude mixed with a strain on the fleshy bits of his brain. It makes a delicious soup.

This is the part where he gets woozy. When his fingers and arms and bones and delicious marrow begin to fade. He delves deep into a world where his legs never work properly. Things that are better are forgotten. Things that are worse become one with the fleshy bits of brain.

Delicious marrow.

He breathes in through his mouth, tissues crammed into orifices.

He feasts on his own blood.

And it all tastes so much better in powder form.

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