Breathe we—
hands of cold, cutthroat silver cup my head hand chest legs feet.
he is here—I can smell him, feel his
ever present smell of must and unloved skin and flesh and bones—
Oh god his bones, his bones i see his bones tear through his flimsy surface and
stain himself with black blood sickness.
He's got me trapped and cornered. I cant breathe I cant breathe I cant brea—
his lace of dog teeth and bird bones got me by the neck,
a makeshift noose of wire and barbs that sting and burns and I swallow
my own blood and choke on the red air.
He loves me he finally loves me love me love me please please please please
"I…love you—"
a/n; someone dying in the headtrip that is silent hill.