She looks at me, and I can see the skin of her body slacken and hang like dough sloughing off of a spoon.  The skin under her eyes droops, and now she looks so sad.  As her skin turns bruise-purple and then black she reaches inside of her chest and grasps her heart, then tears it out and holds it away from her, off to the side.  The heart looks like a lump of mud in her hand.  From it spring little black tendrils, reaching down to the ground, and when the get there they form toes, then feet.  They thicken and become legs, and as her old body crumples in a wet heap her new body is born, the black heart in a new ribcage, the skin tight across it tight and slick, her eyes triumphant.

(from my dream journal)