Tarred and Feathered
The darkness, inside oozing out my pores. Hot, steamy and sticky like fresh tar.
Grey feathers falling from fresh, clean air. Sticking to me. Covering me in a fluffy cocoon.
Crawling to the river on all fours. Scrapping my knees and the base of my palms. Tears flowing from my eyes, oddly making my vision clearer.
Into the river I lay.
On my back, but in the opposite of floating, I sink slowly. Deeper and deeper into what seems like a bottomless cavern.
My air supply gone, yet the breath of life no longer missed. Tar and feathers gently washed away by the current. I can only pray the current also washed away the stains on my soul.
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