Evil Proboscis
The needle sends a syrup of dark fire scouring through the walls of my veins making them rubbery and limp like boiled, blue-green pasta. Memories toss wild and random before breaking apart against my skull in bursts of orange and electric yellow. Traffic noise and a shrill baby’s cry fade away beneath me as shackles of disappointment and failure turn to the powdery rust of might-have-beens. Unfettered, I pursue Alice as she races down the rabbit hole to a sunless, pauper’s grave.
