Degenerate.
My weight, suddenly a massive and incalculable thing, pours over the unforgiving edges of a chair that has no interest in supporting me.
A Judas Cradle.
A wooden horse.
Something that was never meant to provide comfort.
I sit lifelessly as tiny metal hands press impatiently against my back, when suddenly I realize I can no longer picture your face.
I used to know you—every curve and angle of an image worshiped like the shape of a god, a splendid architecture deserving of prayer, a construction beyond my ability to comprehend.
Only glimpses now.
Just flashes.
A frame that twinkles between the black.
You were a graceful thing. I watched you move like water through fingers, all at once appeasing and satisfying but ceaselessly unfamiliar.
I watched in awe as you reached out - for a moment - on a whim - and enveloped those around you. I stood still, for a moment, against my will and felt as you enveloped me.
Like clothe wound tightly.
A forgiving case.
An embalming
I was bound.
Now, through a chain-link fence, I watch you huddled on the ground like a fetus, the cries of all your years betraying the form you now inhabit
The terrible shudder that vibrates beneath your skin ripples across the surface, rocking you back and forth, wrenching your mouth agape. The eyes that once met mine on so many an occasion roll back into their sockets to watch the throat that surrenders moans without protest.
What were once arms and legs are now grotesque branches that twist violently in all directions, lifting your husk off the ground and into my door frame.
A misshapen sentinel who threatens from such a distance.
A cadaver.
Macabre.
I used to know you—a bed made of parts.
Only glimpses now.
Just flashes.
Degenerate.