"Tick, Tock (Three Days Left)"

Hands twisted like bark around the base of the clock, grinning wildly down a us as we wait for time to run out. In addition to the blue flesh that's falling off each limb there's a ticking in the thick of the membrane that is unbearable when sleeping. A cloak of masks built up to fool such police and doctors away from the red of our precious countdown. Indigo purple fades to the mush of brain we have left, the little amount keeps rotting. 
Dry feathers clump in our chalky mouth so even though we need to we can't cry out for help before the last marks are made, it'll be too late and that doesn't scare us. What frightens the younglings is the after effect, the way they will react when they find us after it all, the dire red dry on our thinly lit wrists. Chapped lips of white followed by a scream due to throbbing fear. 
We watch with a sweaty back as fire cuffs our nose so red mares the edges if our everything, time dips itself in the fire so numbers sink away too quickly to get back though it's not as we're reaching out for it with our life; the ending spam that it is. Almost uselessly waiting, anxiously breathing as marks burn deep under our fingers, a time of unrated exploitation of power and orange bursts of happy sorrow. They don't understand how it feels to be happy while know the end is so nearly lurking, the relief and ability to hold a true smile becomes all the more easily found.

Paste drowns out the feel of guilt until the nessacary time of ending,  
We're proofing this house so it'll be okay when we go.

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