echoes in the hallway

Voiceless echoes are coming for us.They're crunching leaves and bonesagainst their molars and ripping jugularswith their canines,stabbing at the only flesh not burrowedunder dreams and blankets.I can smell the sulfur. I can smell the heat.Every waning fairytale on its last leghobbles back into the pagesand yet you stand. You. The unlit cigarettehanging off of my lips, the funeral of smokestrangling my uvula.You hug me, the hole inches onwardtoward six feet. A foot per year.You loved me once.You buried me forever.

via *