Blended with the womb of obscurity,
              barbed voices silently whisper
behind hairs crawling slowly upwards.

Never realising that the contour of your
           silhouette wasn't yours after your
                        corner step, wavering slightly.

It now lays limp, discarded like soiled rags.
                  That which beckons beneath you,
            staring focused on your every breath.

And with but a fluttering of exhalation a light
                         stutters and you fall into a pool
                                           of hollow nothingness.

A stain outlines your last breath,
                    you where already drowning.
                   Not realising you where already dead.