Bread molds in my mouth

Magnificent webs are muttering, crippling. Graphic from Flickr

Bread molds in my mouth.
Air pounds at my lungs.
Light stabs through my eyes.
There is a woman wearing gray.
There is no real truth for her. There can’t be.
A parasite invaded her skull.
Fact became fiction, fiction fact.
Lost in a small puddle,
Sputtering and spat.
Magnificent webs are muttering, crippling.
Feeding all the lies. Nibbling both eyes.
Sleek and smooth, the skeleton sighs.
Cold, gleaming ivory emerges from the water, snaking towards me.
The shell, a tiny twinkle of what it could be.