The End

was moments from being

as limbs flailed and

ants fought with my skin like each other.

Dying to be less than they were,

starving for the moisture pooling in my pores.

I pray I will never be enough to satiate them all.

They haven't left me,

the ants, they still swarm.

I see black liquid drip down the needle to

my shriveled hand,

veins have all run dry and little legs

crawl like pins where the blood should have been.

but finally the dark void parts for the plaster,

a white almost bright enough to blind

I narrowly escaped a nothingness that I still long to find.