I could feel the cold, hard metal of the gun on the back of my neck. It sent shivers down my spine and goosebumps all over.
Was this really going to be it? The fear never built up, the crippling anxiety never hit me, but
I still couldn't move, I was stuck, my legs still in their place as if they were made of rock. I was calm and collected. It's easier to be okay when you're pretending or ignoring your problems.
Because it wasn't a gun, it was a metaphor. It was life holding me hostage there, making me a victim in my own skin.
My heart sunk, my brain raced, thoughts coming in faster than I could comprehend.
Funny thing about ignoring things is that they always seem to come back and bite you in the ass and life was biting mine hard.
I was spiraling out of control, anything and everything confused me. I didn't know what was real anymore, the metaphor or the gun.
YOU ARE READING
Desiderium
Poetry"hold the world but as the world; a stage where every man must play a part, and mine is a sad one." - William Shakespeare
