Freeze
drums of war
There is blue, metallic all around him, pulling and pushing and drilling and prodding. Tendrils fall like swollen fingers over his flesh, so unfamiliar and frightening. Gallons of nothing spew into pouches of tissue, rising and falling to the war drums of red. Nothing functions right anymore – just lost in transit from limb to decaying mind.
There are cobwebs stringing up in excess across the backs of swollen eyes – so red and drowning. It’s all so cold, everything shivering, dissolving, losing. Steam, so thin and trailing, mingles with the frosted snow that creeps out from between the lips of the broken.
Toes wiggle uncertainly under the milky water, and he pulls skin closer to his beating muscle, resting his chin atop shaken knees. Quavering eyes, so glazed and forlorn, lose themselves amidst the world – too far past the edge of running back. He bites his lip, pinching the cold snow in, trapping it in a white, glossy cage of teeth. Broken records of parting words skip across his brain like pebbles, shaking his spine as they passed.
The swollen fingers caress his skin, trying to pull him from the thoughts, trying to make him forget. And he bites his lip hard, drawing the burning red to the surface – so afraid to let it go. So afraid that he would hate him if he ever forgot. He couldn’t; he promised. The metallic blue bleeds from the irises, blends with the red. And the broken record skips and hums to the drums of red.
There are cobwebs stringing up in excess across the backs of swollen eyes – so red and drowning. It’s all so cold, everything shivering, dissolving, losing. Steam, so thin and trailing, mingles with the frosted snow that creeps out from between the lips of the broken.
Toes wiggle uncertainly under the milky water, and he pulls skin closer to his beating muscle, resting his chin atop shaken knees. Quavering eyes, so glazed and forlorn, lose themselves amidst the world – too far past the edge of running back. He bites his lip, pinching the cold snow in, trapping it in a white, glossy cage of teeth. Broken records of parting words skip across his brain like pebbles, shaking his spine as they passed.
The swollen fingers caress his skin, trying to pull him from the thoughts, trying to make him forget. And he bites his lip hard, drawing the burning red to the surface – so afraid to let it go. So afraid that he would hate him if he ever forgot. He couldn’t; he promised. The metallic blue bleeds from the irises, blends with the red. And the broken record skips and hums to the drums of red.