29 October 2012
A mass of congealed, black monster struggles and squeezes through aching veins.
A purge of slime sweeping up everything in its path and adding it to its bulk.
The pace is slow,
the pressure weakening,
A rotten heart - failing,
But the clot is but a symptom, a messenger...
A messenger of finality. A delivery to the grave.
And as he stalks ever closer, so Death walks by his side.
Thrombus • Opuss № I