Bracing among the brave-eyed, shifting stance, I glance upon the trails of the walking dead.
Sockets empty, hollow and bare; feet brushing along the dirt path, laughing as they trip over exposed rocks.
I cock back a stiff neck, holding my face for the stench choked my watering mouth.
To feel this empathy is sudden and my nausea is running up my throat, wanting to expel my full gut.
My arms extend short, revealing empty fingertips; my grip against the branches passes along the piny leaves.
From the horizon, they line one by one following a fainted voice.
And there from the ledge, they tilt their chest
forward to an endless pit.