Far away, softly muttering, I can hear

the sound of the radio, static crackling,

but my vision is blurry, my mind groggy,

tendrils of fog curling beneath my eyelids,

blind, red roses upon skin, darkening,

deepening, breathing ragged; something

clinks metal to metal, but I feel nothing,

bleached senses, sounds, and sights.

The floor is cold, cold yet strangely warm,

smooth stone and concrete, graying,

I spread my fingers to see if they move,

still quivering as blue pain shocks

my shoulders; I could feel the sensation

of millions of needles under my flesh,

but it was all a ghost, just nothing, nothing,

silence and the drip of water, echoing.

Acrid water, piercing and clouding

my nose; I cough and a small white pearl

flies to the floor, cloaked in crimson,

glowing in the dim light, shadows retreating,

my fingers grabbing at air, whispering,

utterances of pain floating to my lips,

escaping through the boards, leaving

pellets of lingering thought, dissipating.