Bliss

The beautiful empty bliss, pulling, straining, screaming. Hear that? Screaming. Drowning in it. What is the thing? Don’t stop. Run the other way. RUN, run from the hell that has taken up residence. Jagged edges are transparent, glittering enough to catch attention, but otherwise they remain unseen to all else. They instead make their presence known by slicing deep, the way we know how the imagination is a terrible and a wonderful thing. Vision of figures cloaked in black. Coming so close, that icy breath connects for a moment, and the kiss of death is against lips already cold. The leering form standing at the edge of the bed frame. Its hands, which are no more bones, dripping with the last vestiges of blood and flesh, torn and mutilated. The twisted extremity reaching, with undeniable intentions. The ice cold bone, connecting with the flesh, the burning sensation as skin melts under the caress. Pain, without intention. Pain without remorse. Pain without restraint. Scream aloud. The head turns and stares into the vast empty space that is all {past. present. future}!Look in the Eye and tell me you aren't being followed. By your past, your future, your present. Tell me that the smile given so freely. doesn't cut like metal to your flesh. Tell me that the touch of hands doesn't burn with lies, and broken beauty. Tell me to open my eyes and not close them to the thing that lingers behind. The light is not blinding. The torment is consuming. Tell me that the breaking of bones is my imagination. Tell me that's not its face I see. Tell me the eyes which bleed with remembrance will fall under the water and drown out with the memory of the child screaming. Tell me that this too shall pass. Tell me that the scars will fade and the words lose their vitality. But no, they lie here dead where my smile once was. Now there is only a shadow. So tell me. Because it is the truth. Show me the mother, and I will show you the child. And all the while we move: Wake. Breathe. Rise. Smile. Bury. Smile. Scream. Smile. And look at the world around you. Within the walls of a house what happens? The things that go unseen. If windows and floorboards could speak. They would tell of feet running down a hall, the sound of doors opening and closing. The whispers in the night of unseen terror which could never be foretold. Touch the handle of the front door, it's gleaming brass surface is revealed underneath the layer of dust and memory. I am fighting a destructive illusion. And then the darkness falls back, a veil of broken glass flying through the air. The motion is perpetual, and slow, colors swirling around me like a dream. She sees the world the way she wants... Just the way she wants... A tear falls and lays there, stagnant like the emotions in my body.... scream.... scream louder, harder, and the rain pours with a sting. Vengeance deeper than blood, harder than stone. The cut is empty of feeling, like the heart that feels no more alive than a cold rock. Chest constricting as the pain courses through and through, like a shot through the darkness. A sigh, back to reality, no, this is my reality. The metal and the flesh... Connected... The conscious mind denying, and also alluring. On the edge. Fighting for control. One step back, smile and no one will know. One step forward, over the ledge, secrets out. Falling down, down, down, deeper, the abyss seemingly endless. Crash on the hard pavement. Lay there motionless and emotionless. Cold, silent, that mark is empty. Yet it falls with meaning. A battle for control has been fought... Who lost? I lost.