A Fight.
Close my ears. Close my ears. Close my ears. Eavesdrop. Never. Do it. Ok. Never. Listen. I try, but the noise in my head is already so loud. Try harder. I am! Well, it's not good enough! I know. What is that rasping hum? Whispers? I know not. Strain your senses. Work them. Notice the details! No! I refuse! Try! Be more. I'm not. Be more! I'm not! Listen! What do you hear? I hear fluttering, quick and harsh chiming, clanging, liquid hissing, lungs, scraping, distant rumbling. Voices. I hear voices. What do they say? I don't know. I don't know. But. Maybe I'm starting to. . . Maybe I can try. I think that a sizzling has dripped out of my ears. I can hear.
Tuesday, February 28, 2012
Frozen February
I walk across the concrete hard snow. My shoes make an odd "carvep" as they come to the cold ground, almost like the sound of cutting cardboard. As I trudge along, my shoe crashes through the ice. It cuts at my ankles. Well, I guess the snow isn't quite so solid as I thought. Dusk has washed everything in blue, so that even the characteristically white drifts are almost light cobalt. The world is silent. A faint hint of burning wood clings to my nose. I find myself infront of the swing in my backyard. I sit on its rough, wooden seat and clench my fingers around its bitter, metal chains. Wildly, I start to jerk back and forth. My eyes start to leak. I suppose February isn't quite so frozen as I thought.
I walk across the concrete hard snow. My shoes make an odd "carvep" as they come to the cold ground, almost like the sound of cutting cardboard. As I trudge along, my shoe crashes through the ice. It cuts at my ankles. Well, I guess the snow isn't quite so solid as I thought. Dusk has washed everything in blue, so that even the characteristically white drifts are almost light cobalt. The world is silent. A faint hint of burning wood clings to my nose. I find myself infront of the swing in my backyard. I sit on its rough, wooden seat and clench my fingers around its bitter, metal chains. Wildly, I start to jerk back and forth. My eyes start to leak. I suppose February isn't quite so frozen as I thought.
Thanks, but I'm fine.
She takes another chocolate out. She eats it. Just eats it. No savoring or appreciating, because her tongue is dull from having so many. She rests on the suede, plum colored sofa. Her eyes mingle over the gray sky and the branches that form a broken-egg shell pattern across her vision. Her face is relaxed, almost comfortable. She reaches into the plastic bag again. A second passes before her fingers find a tin foil wrapped morsel, because she has already almost depleted the bag's contents. She eats the chocolate. Another pound accumulates to her hips, and another layer of misery (this one denial) is added to her soul, her onion of hurt.
She takes another chocolate out. She eats it. Just eats it. No savoring or appreciating, because her tongue is dull from having so many. She rests on the suede, plum colored sofa. Her eyes mingle over the gray sky and the branches that form a broken-egg shell pattern across her vision. Her face is relaxed, almost comfortable. She reaches into the plastic bag again. A second passes before her fingers find a tin foil wrapped morsel, because she has already almost depleted the bag's contents. She eats the chocolate. Another pound accumulates to her hips, and another layer of misery (this one denial) is added to her soul, her onion of hurt.
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