Jagged edges, bear the mental precipice. Has it been decades at this point? The unfelt seizing upon me, holding me in an icy grip. There’s only one end, and something to be paid.
What more is there to let go? I’ve yet to discern. Fate makes itself a meal out of me, devouring and delighting in picking at the bones. Each held sensation takes me to the brink.
I close my eyes, strain myself to recompose. I don’t know what’s at the end of that line, but it’s clear to me, that I must write for this another time, and so I pause at this juncture.
Anew, and darkness commands from its eerie niche, an abyssal welcome with icy breath. The whispers taunt my resolute spine. The dampening words dim as all the night sky.
Return at once, to the scene of the crime. In earnest I fall on my sword. The cracks of the laughter that lurks behind, spin wheels of fate and yearning twine.
The strong-arm of my ego holds me back from the resultant flail, but I buckle under the urge nonetheless. I am what I must be, and all else fails, that is the source of duress.
No interminable thrust, no resistance at dawn. I’m honest as ever, and twice what I was. I don’t know if the truth will evoke the best of the moment, but I do what I must. There’s a box to be opened.