In the absence of a better word…

Days are strange, unmarked. My eyesight reduced to the screen. Daylight is fading, taking thoughts with it. The feeling of being trapped in here grows. The inside of my head, crepuscular and filled with cobwebs. Wasted hours, gone by in a haze. Wasted time, spent being productive. It doesn’t really matter what I do, I am stuck in this room, this head.

The clouds race ahead of the wind, and my toes are cold. The beating in my chest, thunder in my ears, the long frustration of never seeing the dawn, what do these things mean? Are they telling me something I cannot hear, or do I just fail to understand it? The arrhythmic nature of my pulse, keeps me from feeling the dance. The murmuring of my thoughts, disturbing the feeling of the world around me. I need to rip up this carpet, walk on the nails beneath.

Somewhere, somewhere, there is a conflict waiting for me. A dark pit of ire and fire and ash to blot out the wanting for the sun. In the darkness, the absolute, the absence of all colour, shall I forget about the light. I shall down tall trees and fill them with black ink. I shall stain my fingers and leave their prints smeared upon my face. Beneath the branches of leafless trunks, in the earth, amongst the roots, there I will lie, and lying will feed the poor creature that grows ever towards the heavens in vain.


~ by Gethin A. Lynes on May 10th, 2009.

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