With arms like striking snakes. Reached for the throat even as existence returned to the pungent corpse. Choking the air of life before it'd run its full course. But in the eyes held recognition, and in the mind held thought, the stomach gurgled the gnawing pit like the grave whence it'd come, whence it'd return henceforth. And the larynx struggled to find missing words as spirit devolved beneath ferocity.
And I see the life fading from your eyes again, my old dear friend. You go back to sleep now. I will see you next year.
And with shovel and spade...
And with heft heave ruin upon the shifting mud, laid bare upon this world like guilt. Ash and cinder and wood and bone as if vomited from the dreaming void.
And as I gaze down upon you, I see you as you once were. Proud and strong. A lion among sheep. You slaughtered us all.
The incantations linger upon the tongue like melody. Filling the murk with eerie song. Each year just the same. Breathing new life into the empty husk with a hissing rush of wind. And the eyes open.
I see your eyes. Again. So full of life.
My old friend. How you cower there. And seethe. Your pit. You think you've escaped again? You're wrong. You cannot escape me. I will always find you.
And with shovel and spade in the dead of night. Overcoat draped o'er one of these pillars, even in this dismal bleak rain. The echoes off the sepulchral houses, with ruined cippi and hideous gargoyles, cannot be helped. With any luck, the caretaker has taken leave of himself with too much drink upon the morrow.
Did you miss me? Our yearly meeting? No small partaking. You and I. Old dear friend. Soon now.