The View From Above

Dripping.

Drip, drop, drip.

We decide what words to use to describe the sound of the things that surround us; this tap on my roof, it makes me aloof, the sound of the dripping rain my brain chose to name for no reason at all.

Drip, Drop, Drip.

What other nouns can this make-believe adjective apply to, and pray might I pry as to why I can't find the source? Perhaps it's just my faucet.

Drip, drop, Drip.

The enunciation is key in this thing I can't see, the pattering layers of pattern, altering itself through only gravity. Maybe, it's the sound of pouring tea. 

drop, drip, drop.

My fist clenched, my wrist bent to an unnatural test of my ligaments, and I only now realize it. The sound is much nearer than it may have appeared earlier.

Drop, drop, drip.

Different beats of the drip seem to appear and I suddenly hear; instead of feel, I fear- vibrations in my ear, it's much too near!

Drop, Drop, Drop.

The tone is one of urgency now, my numbness unyielding, a flooding of feeling coming only in the summoning of more blood.

Drop drop drop

It has become faster, and as I have another epiphany on how things might be, if only I hadn't seen these things that haunt and daunt me.

drip drop drop

I was right, in what I wrote; it's blood, it's in my throat and in my sight, bandaging light and thought so I might painfully not use my senses.

drip drip drip

As the pace is something I now am forced to face, a little too late to save me from my fate, the dripping makes me feel as though I'm darkly slipping into sleep.

dripdripdrip

My thoughts wander off as I wonder what it's like to ponder when you've wounded yourself beyond a shadow of a hope of return

dripdirpdripi

It's like this, I now know, scattered in dream state. The stakes were higher than I thought, and I hired myself to fire the gun, but I didn't do a very good job.

And then the dripping runs out. The beat dies, I close my eyes. Everything is fine.