/lit/ - Literature

They had no trouble piercing my bare flesh of animals, considering my muscles taut, my veins like veins of marble moving, full of blood melted crystals of iron and sediment oxygen frozen in liquid carrying to urge their lungs pumping symphony dilettante as a repeated cry of trouble to preserve the will to live. They saw in my eyes, my heart they had discovered by probing the moist air, and the horror of my weakness caused them pity for my condition.