The Horror StoryMy horror should turn to grit that chokes the rusting cogs of passing breaths.The Horror Story by BloodshotInk
It should sneak into crevice and corner until each pirouette of a clock hand crunches
a desperate death rattle into the mid-December hysteria. It should.
I want my terror to ooze into the machinery of existence and permeate the iron.
I want it to coat, and coax wheels off their axels as my mind spins out of control.
The whole world should grind it's internal organs like black pepper. To a halt.
The stars should feel the chill of my desperation and slide sluggishly down the sides of the sky
dripping burning nitrous into our eyes that in turn melt out of their sockets.
I want every subatomic particle of life itself to suddenly stop, mid sentence.
This is the way the world should fall apart.
This is the way the world ends. This is the way the world ends.
Not with a bang but with a resolutely maternal voice, strong as gravity, growling "Cancer."
I want the world so still that I will see the traces of the dead le