Meet Your Doom

Brian Whitman - Berries sleeping

Blood dripping from the distended limbs, wounds pouring seeping mass of sinews gaping flesh exposed bone, all screaming in eyes burning from visions scorching permanent retinal impact to the force of nine lives lived all at once. Tied back, restraints tearing, chafing, unable to turn away, unable to run away, barely only capable of wincing, squeezing out the nausea and dizzying inertia of chattering voices whispering strange incantations, possible configurations of near-lethal concoctions, positions, twisted nerves and flayed fingernails. Inedible substances forced into mouths, indelible marks on the everlasting impression of forebrain activity. From the recesses of wilful acts, drawn forth from deliberate tendencies, calculated risks and tolerances stretched to a point within the threshold, all bearing down in combined pressure, converging in convoluted schemes to fresh tears and dirty splits. Filth works its way down the cracks, beetles and insects crawl amoung scrabbling desperate fingers, grasping at air to grab at hopeful relief finding nothing there.