Fear.
Fluid and all powerful
Striking terror into those unassuming
Familiar to those who lie in wait
Anxieties boil just beneath the skin
An itch you can't scratch
A body you can't hide
Prying eyes
Hairs stand on end
You don't want to be here.
You don't want to see him.
You want the one you hold dear to hold you close and never let go
To wrap you in their arms and hold you until the rising of the early morning sun.
Anxiety.
You have no one
No one has you.
No one needs you.
You're complicated and crude
Mishapen and rude.
Broken.
A porcelain bowl thrown on the ground amidst the boiling blood
The chill in the air and the folding of walls
The tearing of flesh and muscle
Pearly white bone.
Exposed to the sky and its beauty
Its pain.
It's beauty. It's pain.
Static frizzles in your fingers
A tension zaps as the metal makes contact
Pain.
Flash-boiled blood drips to the ground
Puddles form along with tears
The world is gone
It's you and your aching wounds
You're alone to lick them clean.
Reality.
Surrounded by strangers when you'd rather follow through
This is reality.
YOU ARE READING
Air Conditioning
PoetryVent poetry It's frowned upon putting your heart on your sleeve with such a weak code like a three number pin. For both of our sakes I hope you aren't the type to spend your time digging your claws in and working to decode someone else's words an...
