/lit/ - Literature

. As I struggled to regain consciousness, still locked in a postnatal placid stupor, I heard an awful tear, filling my soul with pain that contorted in a scream broke the torpor fateful morphale where I was. I found wearing my eyes on myself, to explore a possible trace of my death, my body bore the marks of a great age, similar to a hard and dry trunk whose sap survived beats quick but spaced balanced as a step above the vacuum.