Puncture Wound Video (MV)

Something tore into my chest. Left a gaping hole where flesh once was. I walked among the forest bloom, hands running along needles of pine. Returning to that place in the wood, that place so special to you. Turning over stones to reveal worms. The moss that grows, waiting to be stripped away. Something tore into my chest. Nothing will fix that cavernous abyss. I reached inside the cavity and placed the rusted key. The taste of iron filled my mouth. With the flesh removed, the body is incomplete. Does that satiate? Does that invigorate? Once the key is removed, the hole remains. These affectations grow old. To want nothing more than to remember what it was like before. That puncture wound will never go away.