The sanctity of breath

 

Breathing is easy...

 

In out. In out. In. In. In.

 

So why then

am I choking up

just trying to think?

Why are my tears

blocked up like a clogged drain?

And why is the air tasting

of pain and despair?

Steely ice teasing me, slivers

getting caught at the top of my throat,

like someone has placed

a barrier to stop the emotions

before they can develop.

 

And when the pain grips me,

I sit in the darkness, the sanctity

of the story, the sanctuary of movies.

Awaiting the glow

of a cinema screen to

take me away to a world

anywhere but the

one I’m contained within,

where the walls feel

like they are closing

and my mind is full of static snow.

 

Because

to sit with this pain

eating away at me,

to listen as it chews

through my skin like popcorn

from a bucket of misery,

leaves me clenched and weakening,

as my muscles tighten

and my breathing

leaves me flailing.

 

In. In.In.In.In

 

And I bail.

Like a sinking ship

I fill my bucket

with emotions

And throw them

over the sides,

trying to stay afloat.

Trying not to lose sight

of the island to which I sail.

 

But I fail. And I fall.

 

Days like

this I wish

I could talk to

you. What words

would you speak?

Would they show me

that all will be okay, or that

the weather may get more stormy?

Could they be a soothing balm

to the grazed feeling in my heart?

And would they lift me up

and dust me off

for the journey to follow...

 

And though still hollow I breathe out.

Unstitched clouds

 

My head feels like an unstitched

cloud, the fluffy memories falling

out, the threads, loose, start to tangle

in the growing unease that encroaches on me.

 

What used to be a safe space inside,

where I could find my open fields

and run free, letting my words play loud.

Now sits threatening me with its

void-like imitation of who I used to be.

 

Ever-darkening clouds

and rumbling thunder echoes around.

 

The crushing surrender to a sky falling down.

I feel like laying my heart on a slab

Witnessing its final breath as it fades into death.

 

I’m beginning to wonder if my

hope is worth the pain. If the

landscape can take being oversaturated

by more crashing rain, or will it

flow away clogging the drains.

Leaving me slumped in the remains

of a moment, left clinging to the wreckage

of a long-lost daydream.

 

And my head feels like a memory

of a day. A whispered melody

lilting on the breeze,

It fills me with unease

at the way the keys play,

out of tune, warbling

as it strains to lift the mental load.

 

It used to be the sanctuary

inside of me, a temple

where dreams would play,

a place away from the nightmares

born of earlier days.

A shrine to the muse that

shone down on me,

now the light has gone

only darkness left surrounding.

 

And I wander empty fields

trying to find my former belief.

The self I held tightly, now not felt

anywhere around me, and my

night-blind eyes can’t seem to

find a way to locate these lost memories.

 

Maybe if I move the wonders

the mind will move itself

into a better tomorrow,

where the river flows beside me

and the moon glows

brightly to light my way.

They

 

As we sit

late after midnight,

letting

the crawling darkness

envelop us,

 

when the true witching hour

falls upon us.

As the clocks sync to the rhythm

of your breathing, and your

heart beats more erratically.

 

The shadows can seem scary,

But it isn't their darkened hues

that shiver our bones

But the things we see and just don't know.

 

The void creatures,

whose skin is hollow black.

No light can enter or touch.

It devours the ambience

that should surround,

leaving just an imprint,

a galactic footprint.

Its true silhouette

printed on your sandy mind.

 

And this is something

we cannot comprehend

or understand,

the dimensions within

too vast, too complicated,

Escher-sketched beings,

with one or maybe a million

unfurled limbs

morphing and melting 

into the air.

 

They unfold into our atmosphere,

seeping into the pores.

They swallow the atoms of all,

and belch a cloud of vapour

as black as their

countless hearts of liquid tar.

 

At first glance,

your pupils will dance,

dilating and collapsing,

like a neutron star

combusting in space.

 

Your lips will quiver in fear,

but not just fear, something deeper,

more fearful than fear, more primal,

more ingrained in the atoms of the cosmos.

 

True terror at the being

that stands mere feet

from where your heart echoes

its redundancy into the still air.

 

Your feet will shake,

before you collapse in pain from

an ache that didn't exist,

 

the view will mist, as your eyes

search for anything in the darkness

that really exists,

 

anything to remind you

that your reality

is not this void of emptiness.

 

But no.

You think in panicked handwriting,

it's not empty,

it's full of shapeless entities

that your brain just doesn't

know how to witness.

 

So, you slip deeper into a fit,

thrashing limbs crack and split

as your brain erupts inside your skull,

a meltdown

of your internal Chernobyl,

 

and as one final gasp

hits your lips,

a few last words slip.

 

They. Exist.