the coloration is bland
my eyes seem like their losing focus
it's clear
yet blurry in a spooky kind of way
there are trees surrounding me
but I can't figure out their location or how far they are
it's getting more stuffy
as if I'm in a box and the roof is closing in on me
my breathing is shallow and calm
my mind has gone into a sleepy like trance
I start feeling the mist become one around me
almost as lifting me up from the ground and I'm floating slightly
my head is clear and I can't bear to think
it's like nothing can go into my head to get away from this illusion of reality
I feel the droplets hit my skin and I blink back towards the side
what I see surprises me
and I see the trees I thought were objects are actually people from the shadows
they start to edge closer to me and I wait to see what they look like to me
as they come nearer I become weary and catch a glimpse of their grotesque faces
I am now clearly startled and they keep creeping
closer until we're breathing space apart
I keep my eyes on the mist and feel my foot trip against an open root behind me
when I attempt to get up the root clings onto body and keeps me in place
I look back up and see them
all I hear from the whispers in the wind is
"They Are Coming!"
I pass out and wake up to my dark bedroom with the sun creeping up from the mountaintops
I look at my clock and then glance back at my window for any signs of them
I turn away from the window and close my eyes to hear
"We're Coming, We're Coming!"
-------
CopyRight MyTimeWasYesterday
YOU ARE READING
The Expressionists
PoetryThey speak. I hear. I breath. He looks. They run. I look away. I turn back. They disappear. I wake up. They are gone. Them and he; are just shadows. -------- The Dreamer CopyRight MyTimeWasYesterday
