By Will Schmidt

I blew my nose today. Black shit came out. Not snot. More like – ash. I looked into the folds of that white tissue and was convinced. I am not human.
Or at least I’m turning from humanity. Becoming something else. Something elemental. Ash. Everything dies eventually, everything goes back to dust. Ash is just a different kind of dust.
Who knows what comes next.
Maybe I clip my toe nails and they crumble. Ash.
Brush my teeth. Pearly white fades into black ash.
If I wash my hands maybe they’ll wash away leaving trails. Smears of black.
I sneeze – no moisture escapes. Only ash spews forth.
When I blink, my eyes burn. Covered in ashes.
Every step I take dismantles my cartilage. Bones grinding each other into powder –
To ash.

When I become fully ashen, maybe my mind will still remain. No longer able to move myself, the wind becomes my legs. The rain becomes my sweat. The sun my heart beat. A state of nature. A state fueled by nature.

Maybe I should stop taking acid.
But who wants to wait around all day for the mailman?


1 Comment

Filed under PROSE

One response to “Ash-Man

  1. good stuff. keep em coming.

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