The Thirteenth Hell by Mike Allen
Her voice in my ear said,
look, look.
Though I squeezed my eyelids shut,
hid my face in my hands, I could still see it.
I pressed my fingernails in,
hooked my thumbs and pulled,
like so many here before. And
she said, look, and I could still see it.
I crawled to the wall,
slammed my head on the stone,
found the cracks in the bone and clawed.
Her voice in my brain said, look,
and I could still see it.
I scrabbled at the ground
turned soft by my blood,
made a hole deep enough to force
my head in. She whispered from the earth,
look, look, and I could still see it.
The mud has swallowed me.
Things there feast on what's left
of what I used to be. And she
is one of them, her mouth moving
in my skull. Look, she breathes, look,
and I can still see it.
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