You breathe through the air. Its jacket fits snugly. Its jacket is pale grey blue, and gripping.

It feels, a Forrest surrounds you. The blackening etch of your nature against cold tile like elephant ivory.

The ink seeps into the spread of age. It is blue dark. The picture blurs.

The only sound has been captured within the trumpet. The brass bulges, and begins to fracture.

What escapes; weeping. A low moan and the gurgle of a man drowning. Slowly.
His toes pointed downwards.

To the bottom like a dart. The silhouette of a body freeing itself of the hangmanís noosed.

Until it fins itself violently to the left, an eruptive detour created with the force of a whales tale. If only its lungs to breathe.

And free yourself of this jacket. Of its sterile color and similar embrace.
Written by Calamityofgin
All writing remains the property of the author. Don't use it for any purpose without their permission.
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