– he screams his pitch is low and black as night that flows and chokes his withered throat and hacking cough that sounds like death is here for him who always knew and feared that this indecent end would carve its bitter name full deep inside his soul and burn within without a ceasing seeing moment more than screaming ones who howl and hide from fates that crawl towards on nails that scratch and creak like rotten boards might warn you of your severed pains approach to pull your skin like sodden cloth and drag it tearing from the now that is no longer even close to what the when just might have been if there was time enough to run and hide from rancid deaths –