moist stone

it was as if all that began moist within me, hardened into steel. stone, jagged and rough around it’s edges. it’s surface was textured the same way gravelled roads were primed with blackened tar. thread thin cracks lined it’s body in long vertical strokes. some sliced through it’s horizon, as if dividing the space into separate territories. others were slightly more fluid, streaming across diagonal platforms as if spilled, as a result of careless movement. and it went on like this, gargling the broken bits of gore; the effort of spit and swallow bred itself into a repetitive cycle of expelling the unwanted. the grueling attempts at purging sin, ignoring the incessant whimpering of trolls. there was little space for escape, if any; a wink in the distance. an open-close interval of barely split seconds.


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