It’s eating at me. Nothing I can do sorry. I am far too weak to fight it. All my energy, passion has been consumed by it the moment it entered my system. Now all I can fell is it’s hard hammering, it’s drilling in my lungs, as I try and breathe. I blink, again and gain trying to clear my eyes of it. My wind pipe becomes blocked as I try to gulp it down so it will disappear. I hit it. I hit it hard enough to bruise my fist, but it stays. It stays sat in front of my at the kitchen table. It continues to clot my blood until I begin to turn white because my fluids have thickened into a plastic goo. I beg it to go away, silently and in my bellowing voice down the phone. The sickening stench rises into my nose and pushes the word
out of my dry mouth.