(no subject)
Crushed in body and spirit against the cold, wet and unceasingly cruel labyrinth floor. The Minotaur's mighty and barbed hoof depresses my skull into the cobble, upon which the chronicles of my wasted journey are hewn with the hair torn from my head. I taste the mud, filth and blood as it invades my mouth so maliciously and coldly, and feel as it warmly drifts out and sails away to brighter shores, taking as much breath as the canvas requires. My body heaves uncontrollably as the rainwater and tears stream so naively and painfully into my throat, choking me. Every drop of blood in my body screams with agony, vibrating in anticipation of spilling itself. It feels like the flesh wants to tear from my bones and die, with no purpose of it's own aside from the futility of its effort. My screams are an endless fury and rage that bounce meaninglessly off the condemning, guilt inspiring labyrinth walls. As effecting and affecting as they are valid. The only ones that seem to hear them are myself and the Minotaur, who seems to be enjoying them. His persistence is all the proof I need of that.
I'm so upset with myself I feel sick. I was having a good day, too.
I'm so upset with myself I feel sick. I was having a good day, too.