Fluid Language: March 2013

Tuesday, March 26, 2013

Afraid of Fear

There is that tickling feeling, the eerie spinning of butterflies fluttering aimless in the pit of my stomach. My hands to the touch are clammy and beads of pearls leak from my flesh and run like tears down my skin.

The darting race of my heartbeat sending a rush of drugs through my veins. Adrenaline courses and turns my thoughts into a spiraling chaotic frenzy. My hands feverishly cling to anything, something in reach. I can’t comprehend what is going on. I don’t understand why I can’t grasp a sense of reality. The images in front of me become hazy and foggy. I can’t…

…I can’t breathe. My lungs are not drawing and releasing air. My legs become shaky and the quivering shutters ricochet throughout my body.

Silence overcomes me, I can’t hear anything but a blinding pinging loud screech. There is nothing. My chest doesn’t rise and fall and death seems to have replaced the heartbeat that once pounded feverishly against my chest.

My feet are cement boots at the bottom of the ocean, the current doesn’t help me escape the over flow of relentless pain. I can’t escape and I can’t comprehend to help myself.

No one there to save me from myself…I am the all-consuming evil of my own fear.

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Huntsmen

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Huntsmen

The freezing cold night sweeps by in the heat of the summer. I can feel the chill and the lingering taste of hunger. I've seen seasons change, but not like this. The thunderous sounds of the bold first kiss rumbles through time like something I missed. I could have read it wrong or heard it unclear, but none of this shows passion, it’s genuinely clear. The sweat no longer trickles down my backside but my mouth is parched from playing on the wayside. The rumors of love seems to have diminished and ignited into flames of harsh tongue. He wonders why my feelings are numb.

My lengthy dangling arms swing to embrace my pulled up legs. The pounding feeling beating against my chest never gives rest. I might have felt wetness trickle down my cheek but it was just the wind brushing against me. My head hangs low touching my knees and I can hear that same wind whispering to me.

The sound of angels singing in through the fog and I see more clear with all the haziness around. I pull myself up and I rise to my feet. I let that wind pull and tug at me. I want to fight but my will isn’t strong anymore. The damn thing has more knife wounds then a murderous hell hound.

His flesh temptations has yanked at my soul, has killed my spirit and swept me into the under tow. The visions he cherishes has put out my fire, has sprayed my skin with acid and disfigured my armor. He’s a huntsmen and set on a prowl. Clearly to attain his beauties and power.

So when is enough, enough for him? He’s already torn and marked my skin. The scars are not visible but so clear to me. That is why I am walking towards where the wind blows me. When I am not longer in sight and he can’t grasp me. That is when my shadow will be his only memory. The hail storm beating on his chest tormenting him to insane. While I take my seat with those who know I remain.

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