The dampened cloth around her mouth drips through her lips and stings her teeth. The metallic taste isn’t something she knew about. She instinctually swallows it, gulping what is hers.
Readjusting, elevating the damp cloth sticking to her skin, noticing and confused to why the dampness still lingers. Her fondness of the tepid, cooling nature it has as air flutter by…grows.
Without it her mouth would be pale, a deafening abyss, to it is her only understanding.
The cracked red clay substance is no where to be found. It has been liquified, drenching her once barren palms. Pooling at her feet, ruining and staining the floor.
She gingerly unsticks the cloth, pulling away translucent shards of skin from her lips. They formed deep grooves that now have air to heal.
She lames the soul she could never forgive. It stalks in invisible corners, waiting to be the solution. That soul is forgiveness and acceptance. It emerges taking all the light, internalizing the profundity it so craves. It sings songs of familiar lullabies that elevate the deepest regrets.
But your lightest soul is the shadow that fuels and regurgitates the unconscious stream enveloping her. She knows not to argue for this soul is forgiving, but hideous when interrupted.
She don’t know how long she hasn’t been able to move. How the drenched cloth has expanded, tightening around her wrists and ankles-extending outwards giving slack only to gain momentum to close her up, drawing herself in the body that barely exists anymore. It is so tight that she lets it suffocate her, there is nothing left for her outside of this body anyways.
The pinprick of her nail disturbs the cocoon, jutting out to break the seal. Heat begins to rush over her skin, as she continues, taking out the hardened plaster like a shell that had been digging into her bones. Speaking dust out from her hair and the bottom of her feet. She raises herself as the heat grows.