Masks and Muses

That Feeling

Describe to me that feeling.
That starts in your heart and stretches everywhere else; that ache in your heart, kind of dull, kind of not. It's like your beating core is being torn apart, slowly, painfully; picked away at, piece by piece, every single thread meticulously split and pulled , and feel the muscles stretch and snap. Then it spreads, what joy, to your throat. And here it comes clawing up, like a knife playing hurricane, or perhaps tornado, until the walls are raw and red. You hope to cough up blood but all that comes is salty tears. Racing down, they leave invisible scars in their wake all across your body; that body which lies there, still, unmoving. It plays master, you play puppet so it's no surprise that movement takes so much effort. Your arms won't lift; your legs won't walk, not with the life they should at least. And your smile, what's left is just upturned corners barely seen, glassy eyes and quivering lips. Now you sit there, staring, until your mind goes numb, your bones to dust, all which inspired and motivated you to waste and rubbish. Because, see, that's all I really can do, not much more; and quite frankly, that's really all I want to do anyways.

{ag}
05/16/2017
May 16, 2017