One last time

Impulses

repeated.

Until no sharp corners are left.

My body slams.

A dense, hollow thud

each time.

Blinded, floating across,

hoping for a soft fall

or an unforgettable end.

A deliberate search

to feel the weight,

to feel between the thuds.

Uninterrupted drive

for truth -

a rather one sided quest.

Each time the fall stops,

eyes blink,

wondering, why again?

A handful of soft mush disintegrates,

bruised,

discarded.

Flies gather,

it rots like lies,

permeating.

Filling up every space,

smearing on,

even on the ones I thought he had saved.

The rot on my skin

tells me no more,

once again.