It pulls me. It tugs at the crinkled corners of my mind until I am stretched so thin that my elastic muscles are about to whip back. I am pushed to the precipice of breaking point, looking down upon the drop dipping so deep that I can't bear to imagine what the floor looks like. It tugs at the crinkled corners of my mind. The Mariana Trench squeezes water columns through my veins and the pressure stiffens my limp limbs so that I lie in rigor mortis across an ocean of silk carpet. My chambered nautili organs withdraw within the equiangular spirals of their shells. It tugs at the crinkled corners of my mind. I am stretched and I bend my stiffened limbs until they creak at the joints. Synovial fluid weeps through my tearing skin to fall between yearning fingers. Cartilage grinds to a halt. It tugs at the crinkled corners of my mind. There is no energy for resistance and my muscle filaments cling in a final embrace. Rigor mortis. The precipice is now a mirage and my camel eyes wander on regardless. It tugs at the crinkled corners of my mind. I am stretched and the momentum knocks me forwards. I am falling and I am drowned before I reach the sea floor.
It pulls me.