Bad Things
Chokebore
Motionless, slow and melted, tilted downward like a dying bird.
Is anybody here? Her nose was bleeding red like gunpowder. I have seen the wind blow through her.
The people in here are sick and cold.
Motionless wearing strange wings, doing bad things, dripping wet like glass.
Are you hearing this? But if I wait and come inside you will you let me back tomorrow. Is anybody home at all?