muscles aching
heart racing -
breaking
eyes dropping
on edge
brain rotting
sleep - i dread
atmosphere
thick
as a winter blanket
slice it
knife it
cut it into equals
spread it between us
jaws set
bodies erect
lay the bayonets -
battle ready
always
he seems to be
everything
tense
war
blood
gore
done.
YOU ARE READING
Trance Ends
PoetryLife in a bubble is beautiful. The inevitable pop is the only sure thing about a bubble though. Just like death is the only certainty of life. So when the trance ends, and we transcend, that is when it all truly begins.
