THIS

This. A different feeling, a mood beyond comprehension. New. A pain, begining deep down inside, seeded in the darkest crevices of the barely beating heart. Struggling to come to fore, bubbling somewher, waiting but unable to breakthrough. A stillness, menacing in its inactivity, a calmness on the surface, an antithesis. One before an intended storm?  Thoughts that chill the bones, rippling up the spine, spilling from the pores. And yet, that troubling calmness, that inability to emote, to break, to shatter. A mind that needs it, a body demanding, but a heart that refuses to care. Hardened on the outside, or broken beyond repair? A cause to be scared, terrified. Tht person in the mirror who looks like me, that person inside, anything but familiar. A withdrawal, from the known, from the self. A feeling prevails, a million dead. 

This world, a world and a half away from reality, or was that the dream? 

This. Illusion. Stuck, wrapped around an organ, running through the veins. Illusion, spreading rapidly, clouding the vision, the now. Refusing to disembark, to let go, stifling in its power, that pressure. I take a gulp, to breathe, to be. yet it evades, that essence of life. 

This. A loneliness not just in solitude, a loneliness in crowds, amongst the known and the unknown. Then, a mind knowing, a heart wanting, a hope lingers, refuses to fade. 

This hope, a return, to the beginning, the end, the anything. This hope, a reason, a direction, salvation. This hope, for tomorrow is another day. 

This, is all that remains.

THE DEMONS OF HER DREAMS

The sun sparkled out the deep blue yonder, clearing the haze, its rays like vigorous beams of freshness. She saw them beams enter through the window, saw the dust mites dancing in the splendor, resplendent in their misplaced joy. She sat there thinking to herself; a day of this beauty, this magnificent clarity, this warming glow; could only usher in a night of felicity, of rapture. Paradise.

The euphoria of the day perpetuated into the evening. She persevered. They were a corporeality of the past. Anterior. Forgotten. Extinct.

Ah! The night of abandon, free of restraint, free of those voices, of the chase. Free of the demons. Yes! the demons, the very demons of her dreams; they were defunct today. Annihilated by the blinding dazzle of the day. Complacent in her belief, she slept.

She was running. Running too fast, running too slow. She thought she could leave them all behind but she knew that they would catch up. They would soon tire she thought, they ought to. They cast their net, she was trapped and butchered. She was made of thicker skin, the knife couldn't surely cut through her. They used the cleaver to slit her throat. The faster she ran, the closer they got; the farther she got, the bigger they loomed. She was starting to hurt, could feel the trickle of blood, drenching her, soaking through her clothes, it was surely the sweat, her leg starting to give way. They were stripping her off. She was starting to like the pain, the shame. There was pleasure in it. She got away, she knew inside and they carried her off on the harpoon. They were, the demons that resided in her dreams.

The desolation tossed her all over the bed, so she crawled under the covers and slept with her demons instead.