Saturday, October 31, 2015

Black





Silence rips through blackened hours, each tick of the clock tightening the knot in your stomach. The lump in your throat grows ‘til you’re barely able to breathe, and you sit frozen in this emptiness, the mind frantic, your fingers itching to rip open your skin so that the torment that has no identity and no description can leave, but your jaw clenches, locks in your words, muscles burn, tears can’t touch this blaze and you die a little bit, ashes floating into oblivion, the only sign of life, a racing pulse in your veins.


7 comments:

  1. Shadow I let the burn, the tightness the ashes take me. Without the dark silent hours i would be mired in insanity and that bit of me burned away I think it matter flying to the ear of the eternal.

    We are all haunted by something well behind us now--better to burn the memories of it, for we have learned my friend, we have learned.

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  2. your prose writing is as awesome as that of your verse, you are amazing in both! what a description, it is so poignant and stirring, loved every bit of this :)

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  3. I feel like I just died myself. Your words are far more powerful than the image, and that's really impressive.

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  4. hello shadow its dennis the vizsla dog hay i feel like this a lot!!! thats wen i hav to go find mama or dada and git sum cuddels to mayk me feel better!!! ok bye

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