I screamed at the wrong one. I screamed and their eyes are no longer in the sockets, rather, they're hanging, dwindling from stringed meat that used to be stems. Your flesh is ruined, purple and dry, cracked as the ground of wasted depleted earth.
I didn't laugh for over an hour. I didn't want to think about it, nor was there a reason for me to go back and apologize. I did what I had to do, and now your lips are the shards of flesh you pick from your brow, and place gently on the table, forming a jigsaw puzzle.
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