The words stick to my ribs.
They glue my diaphragm to exhaled lungs.
Breath won't come.
.
They fill my stomach with acid.
I can't vomit them up, can't move them through.
They rot inside my guts.
.
The words are old
But festering wounds do not clean themselves with time.
They devour, they kill.
.
These words are killing me then.
They are wrapping delicate hands around my throat
And squeezing.
.
The words have gone fuzzy though
And I cannot tell if it is because I am losing my mind
Or if I am finally succumbing to them.
About the Creator
Silver Daux
Writer of the dark! Think of it like flipping rocks, the weird little stories underneath are my jam and jelly. Jam and butter? Just jam. Absolutely no use of AI in any of my works :)
Ah, also:
Tiktok/Insta: harbingerofsnake
Enjoyed the story? Support the Creator.
Subscribe for free to receive all their stories in your feed. You could also become a paid subscriber, letting them know you appreciate their work.
Comments
There are no comments for this story
Be the first to respond and start the conversation.