The Truth Will Out

It is so quiet that all I can hear is her sleep and the quiet click of my eyelids. They feel stiff, my eyes. Overworked, overestimated. They've seen too much. And now everything is black. Inside and out. I can smell her perfume and the damp of a day's sweat. I can taste it. I can taste peppermint and tooth decay. I am nearly 30. 

And all I can think of is how everything has gone rotten. It's insipid and drab on my tongue as it is in my chest. And all I can think of is how I got it so wrong at every turn. This rot crawls my brain at night. It clots, it scabs over. 

My body is a petty carriage for a brittle thing. A canister exhausted. A fire extinguished. Embers slowly bleeding the last remaining toxins from this waste.

The End

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