Crimson Poison

Drip. Drip. Drip. 

Drop after drop falls, echoing with a sickening ring. 

Each drip is pain, each reverberating tone the knell of agony. 

He’s screaming at no one and no thing. 

But the drops keep getting louder and louder, drowning out his mournful cries. 

His face is tortured. His body is taut with torment. 

With every drop his suffering seems to double in intensity. 

The suffering builds to a near crescendo, a deafening cacophony. 

His ears are ringing and his mouth sputtering. 

His throat no longer has the power to make a sound. 

His eyes alone scream now. 

Drip. Drip. Drip. 

The hellish tempest raging within him is unceasing and unforgiving. 

His head is burning inside. 

The walls of his skull are imploding and exploding endlessly. 

The rope that is his will snaps. 

The fiber of his being is torn asunder. 

The silence is deafening. 

The only thing to break it

Drip. Drip. Drip. 

Is what broke him.  

He sprang a leak. 

Borne from his own hands. 

And his throat didn’t forgive him. 

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