Prose

V

I've found a new obsession with skeletons inside of me. It may be because of Bones or my newfound obsession with death. I can only imagine the dusty, gory remains of one that once lived lying lifeless beneath the ground. I can only imagine what may ignite the life in them once more.

And they will rise.

They will grope the wetted dirt and part it with their renewed spirit. They will amble to their boned legs, balancing on cracked femurs to look on at the world around them. The world of skin and heart and hair and life.

And they will know they do not belong.

They will bang against hollow ribcages with bent phalanges and scream. Scream with no sound, no lungs or tracheae to carry the sound. They will cry with no eyes, no tear ducts to produce.

They do not belong here.

And the last spark of what they believed was spirit, the last of renewed life will die. They will once again face a death, but a wanted one this time. They will burrow into the earth like mice and fold bony arms over bony chests and rest. Rest again.

Maybe I'm so obsessed with skeletons because of the last shreds of life they have, the cellular life writhing on the bones and skin melts away and hair drifts from scalps. Or maybe I'm so obsessed with skeletons because they got the one thing I want.

Death.

March 12, 2014 2:49 pm