Banner worn. Torn and tormented.
Thrown to the ground like an old dog turning,
churning, yearning for that sensation.
The black face, it calls.
Its wide mouth a crevasse, a gaping hole to hell in a face of shame.
It has eaten me.
I am devoured.
The acid tickles my skin and peels me away ever so gently.
It’s just like falling asleep.
The Grape Vine 