Bleeding Bats in the Belfry

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Deep down she falls into the infinity. It’s thick like octopus ink and runny like a rotten egg. The deepest depths of the Earth aren’t as far as you think. Her blood is boiling. Her veins are leaking like the faucet in the bathroom. Her mind is reeling into the crevices in the walls. Her mind is trailing like a silken spider’s web in August. She feels like the nails on the chalkboard. She’s trapped in the knife drawer. She tastes ocean water and smells like an empty grave site. She’s lost in space.

But she can’t feel a thing.