On the Fringes

By Jasmin Collier

Tongues, clicking and wet, sound their slippery
pinkness in her ears, breath in her brain, fog
pervading her senses.

Her senses shatter into millions of fragments
of consciousness, all jagged and sharp,
cutting — everything.

Everything dark, everything blank, all shadow.

Clutching to the fringes of her aura are a
million voices, calling in crescendo.

Crescendo as the earth falls into the sky,
as gravity pulls the sky down to earth,
and she falls.

She falls into the sky that is now the earth
that houses Hell.



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