Gone.

Remants of life
rasping at the back of
my throat. Like a
tickly cough.

But a tickle would
imply laughter.
And yet, it is a torture
of sorts. Tickling, I mean.

Torture could provoke
laughter, I suppose.
Choked out spasms of
desperate, frothing hysteria.

It's a hypothesis, isn't it?
But then, I wouldn't know.
I'm not here any more.
I left a long time ago.

Mez.