Saturday, December 10, 2011

day 12 prose:

contractors, contraction, contracted -- the woods started closing around her. she wasn't breathing, she couldn't. she wasn't moving, she couldn't. she wasn't doing anything, she couldn't. they ignored her as they carried on with their lives, doing exactly what they were told -- the architecture's mad wishes. strangely, what surrounded her had no leaves -- or no branches for a matter of fact, and the geometry was too perfect for it to be natural. it was man-made.

it wasn't the woods that were surrounding her, it was wood. it was wood that was being placed in a rectangular shape around her.
she was in a coffin.

oh right! she was dead.
she wasn't doing anything, she couldn't.

---

poem (here)

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