Illness

He felt the worm inside of him. He could actually listen it, crawling inside his body, trough his muscles, trough his organs. He was on his bed again, incapable of moving, staring at the walls, its white whiter than the white of his blood shot eyes. There were no answers and he couldn´t tell the origin, he just knew the sickness, the nausea, the perpetual feeling of rotting, of dying whilst being in a limbo between his life and his real death, walking in the thin line of his last memories and what he could consider real. He knew he was imagining things, that the creatures inside of him didn´t exist. He said this as he saw something moving under his belly skin, something long and sneaky, going up to his chest. He tried to stop it, push it away. But in the very end he knew it was useless, there was no way he could stop it. He closed his eyes and laid his body down.

relax, let yourself go, tomorrow you won´t remember anything, and the blood covering your hands and body will have no meaning. Another life won´t make a difference.