Black eyes are still heavy with death and tears.
When I press my evercool fingers against my eyes I feel the pools of exhaustion settling beneath them. My face feels tight as animal skin stretched over wood.
It is a drum.
I am a skeleton and these eyes are uncrying evershining unceasingly burning pits of pain. Exhaustion weighs on my body till my skin drags and slides off.
I am exposed.
But as a zombie I must keep moving, I must keep marching, and I must keep pulling up my skin. And where have my suspenders gone?
There is only rest and reprieve in sleep, that bittersweet taste of death. But these eyes can never close. This zombie must stay alert.
And I am not the only zombie in this age of decay.