late night trembleMature

And so it starts - the late night tremble of raindrops on the windows, the distant whoosh of an engine speeding down the highway, the flutter of light in the hall where the bare light bulb sways from its cord.  Like whispers in the darkness, reminding me what life is.  My bones feel hollowed and cold, weary from desertion and sorrow.  Your fingerprints are brands upon my skin but they are fading with age and disuse.  Tomorrow haunts me already, wracked with disappointment and another reason for this ennui to settle deeper, burrow until it sinks its ashen roots into my muscles, knotting around my joints and spreading like ivy over my skeleton.

The End

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