The Parting of a Neck

They ache from a place that's not far from our own. Incessant pattering. If you listen closely you can hear the suffering of strained twine. There's only a membrane that separates us. It's very thin, and weak in its resolve. It's a place from which hands can reach, but mortality is foreign. Incantations hang from the shelves of bent whispers and corpulent hands. The noose that they gave me, you can hear it unfurl. The parting of a neck is deafening. Piloted eyes burst with a clandestine revelation. All a pool of blackened hammers. Our spirit the nail. Our bodies the anvil. They stare with the weight of them. A horror gapes, the yawning mouth of Hell. Countless teeth chew the bones of weaker men. Devour my failings, and the character that led me there. Cleanse me of filth. Reduce me to void. Cleanse me of filth. Crush my body between jaws of persecution. Cleanse me of filth. Reduce me to void. Cleanse me of filth. Reduce me to void. Cleanse me of filth. They carve curses from the feet of our broken children. They reached for our throats when tolerance burned away. It was an alien notion. Incantations hang from the breathes of bent whispers and corpulent hands. That noose that they gave me, you can hear it unfurl. The parting of a neck is deafening.

Submitted by The Void — Apr 26, 2025