Gold flecks in the potter’s ground.
Glitter, glimmer, glint, gleam.
Gold flecks in the cracking dermis.
Ruby streaks in the reeking fluid.
Crimson blood along pine-needle bile.
Three months too late for Christmas.
A yule log laid in my bed, burning.
Each day, drier. Each day, lighter.
Never been so scared in my life.
I am selfish.
I know.
But six years and three months of service
Has earned me this one indulgence.
I can’t stand seeing her like this.
In supplication to Deimos and Phobos.
Drill down into her.
A bead of red sand drips into the analyzer.
As dry and cold as utopia’s plains.
I am selfish.
I know.
But I can\'t even think in straight lines,
And I cannot keep watching
As she spits out pieces of herself.
Losing a little more with each repetition.
Emesis.
Emesis.
Emesis.