DOWN - Lyrical Microfiction (part of the lines that carry series)

"Some lines don’t rise. They pull." - Lyia Meta

The line bent, not up but down—

a soft slope into ruin.

It didn’t ask.

It took.

First, a sip.

Then a swallow.

Then the throat stopped closing.

Pleasure split at the seams.

What began as ache became appetite.

What began as hunger became need.

Rules bled.

Memory blurred.

Shame stopped mattering.

The skin didn’t feel like skin.

The body didn’t ask for rest.

The mind—

a dog chewing glass.

Touch came uninvited,

and stayed too long.

Nothing burned,

so nothing warned.

The line curved again.

Deeper.

Wider.

Quieter.

Sleep became a myth.

Morning, a threat.

Silence, unbearable.

Still the reach.

Still the craving.

Still the opening.

A hole carved in the soul

where meaning used to live.

Not wild.

Not free.

Just lost.

And sinking.

And liking it.

The body kept breathing. That was the curse.

By Lyia Meta

Image by WiX