Exhausted, but I can't sleep for thinking of you. I'm cold, muddy and hungry, but my memory has made a golden idol of you and it keeps me going. I feel you through the distance, aching as the world burns around us. I'm thinking, stay strong, but I don't even know if you're still alive. I can taste your spit in my mouth, and I do as my skin opens up to embrace the cold and remind me just how alive I really am.
And when the monster, so eerily human-like and familiar, arms jerking in a way that reminds me of my own frailty, and I lose to teeth and nails, I find myself thinking, "This isn't like me at all...
I usually see ahead. I should be able to feel them coming...
But all I could feel was my heart ticking like a bomb. Sick from the feeling."
Your face is burned into my eyes.
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