obsidian

Illusive. 

Damaged and torn. 

Metabolic passion transformed to obsidian sand. 

Not much more than the letters hanging on my tongue when I see you turning your head the other way. 

I am a facade, I am a game. 

Lonely steps walking towards my garden and I am buried deep beneath. 

Uncoiled by delicate hands.

Strands of me on the floor.

Naked, exposed and somewhat unknown.

Raw blood rushing, the current of me flooding all of which was unseen.

The stillness awaken.

Howls echoing as I am reanimated into the forms that feed.