Muscles

As the noise in your brain quiets, it gets easier to hear the smaller voices. Perhaps they have been speaking all along, but without making such a fuss about it. You wish they had. 

They whisper of muscles unused, of why you do not crave things because the electricity has gone out of your system, because the tension grows weak with neglect. You forget you wanted things, forget you expected things, now their absence lines up like a firing squad, like a bad guilt trip without retribution. There's an ore of truth there, something is longing to be said. 

You have reached the abandoned mine. 

Pray for a rush to return.