More, she said.
More, more, give it all.
Keep giving.
More, when the silence falls.
More, when the cracks begin to show.
More, to quiet the never-ending screaming.
More.
When there is nothing left to give, still more.
More, because the void swallows the broken places inside,
and the nothing beyond is still more palatable than what was left behind.
More.
Outgrown, the vessel shatters and falls away.
More.
Lacking form, density, space, time,
there is nothing.
There is everything.
More.
When the long miles behind you echo with your ghosts,
more.
Always moving, always forward.
More, as the future slips further and further from your vision.
More, as you fall.
More, as you crawl.
More, with the bloodied stumps grinding into asphalt,
still more.
Bones rattling against one another
in a disjointed rhythm
as you finally still.
More.
Always more.
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