Manic, like a feral animal trapped at the top of a stairwell, eyes panicked and steady waiting for the moment to take her leave.
There will be no dank submission to this grief. Even if she has to climb her own walls, her mind racing to navigate the map to her escape.
The back up to the back up plan had failed, but she wasn’t going to be buried by the weight of obscurity. Death and reckoning had to wait, she was gasping for air, but she still had a lot of fight left.
She was held together by the longing of her magnum opus, her piéce de rèsistance, her flower in bloom. If she couldn’t get under perdition or over ruin, she would go straight through hell; and god help whomever stood in her way.
This was just another maze to solve; she was going to have to crawl until she couldn’t feel the bleed on her knees. She knew pain, suffering was an old friend, but this wretchedness was tearing at her flesh biting into mealy bone.
It was provoking atrophy and her hesitation wreaked of decay. She could tend to and lick open wounds later. She knew it was too soon to let her guard down, still she gulped down the penitence of regret.
Trapped animals chew through their own limbs in order to escape. She was no stranger to baring her teeth. Head down, this is going to hurt; she knew she would have to be all in.
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