Carcass Dreams

I died three days ago.
I think. It could be months.
But things seem so different now.
Everything's so unconnected with time.
I have fallen out of its interest, you see.
It only cares to erase me from its sight,
Decaying me and molding me
Into the earth that surrounds me.
It turns its back, not wanting to
Witness what exactly it has done to me.

I still lie here in this puddle of caked blood. The leaves of the forest painted on my sallow skin. In the sunlight I look as if I were made by shimmering pearl, a strange kind of beautiful. I would be slightly more content with death if I didn't feel this itching in my stomach, the scratching in my head, the crawling in my chest. The insects of the world have started eating me hollow, and I can feel each movement and twitch inside of my still corpse.

I can't even blink when the sun is at its peak, staring straight down into my blank, dulled eyes.

The animals of the woods come by, attracted to the smell of my rotting carcass, and I do not understand their attraction to the putrid smell. I lay here all day and night wishing I had lost my sense of smell upon the arrival of my demise, but for some terrible reason, I lay here equipped with all senses. Nonetheless, the creatures come: nibbling and ripping the flesh and meat from my bones. I can hear the animals chewing raucously on my intestines, the juices slurping around in their mouth. I can feel each tear, but I cannot cringe or scream at them, and lying here paralyzed and unable to rest, my awake mind spins in insanity.

This feeling of being stuck is like no one could understand; it is like the worst of a claustrophobic's nightmare. I am immobile, unable to help myself, unable to cease the pain rupturing through my entire body. Sometimes I can even feel the flesh slop away from my tawny bones, decaying ever so slowly. I cannot cough when a beetle becomes lodged in my throat, squirming around to continue down my pipe and into my lungs, my flattened, useless, torn tissue that used to be my lungs.

Slowly I sink down, sink more into the ground. It pulls at me, and calmly beckons me to fall into it, and though the sound is reassuring, I do not listen. As I lie here in this agony, I wish only one thing. I desire my body to be found. They must find him who damned me; they must find me and put me to rest. I would hate for my loved one's to constantly be immersed in wondering what happened. I don't want anyone to ever feel as stuck as I have felt for weeks now. But, I don't have much time.Days pass, weeks pass, and my body is almost finished becoming the dirt, almost finished sinking into the earth.

If I don't succumb to the life around me, if I don't blend into the grass, the trees, and the moss, I'll be released from my body only to find myself in a whole other hell. I'll become a soul condemned to roam without a body to call its own, and I thought this was unbearable. Just this thought sends my mind to sweep in a fine frenzy.

Still, I lie here in this puddle of blood stains, staring straight up into the sky, seeing through eyes that have been eaten away, the insects nesting in the cavities that remain. I see the moon rising. And the sun setting. And I wait. I wonder how long it will take for someone to find me resting here and waiting.