Slick Hands
There is a feral field in my thoughts.
A mistake.
A mistake breathed life into the black creatures
Swaying weakly in my thoughts,
Drunken men rambling uselessly
Amidst cerebral scholars.
.
It came on the coattails of dusk.
Cool fingers brushed away the fever of civility
Beading with sweat upon my brow.
Arctic storms slipped into my lungs
Carrying the ash of an explosion.
.
It was sweet, ambrosia on my tongue.
I suckled and drank as the glint left my eyes.
Fog settled.
It almost hurt as it scraped across my teeth and bit
Into eager red lips.
.
Iron slicked my mouth.
Slipped over my lips with words like daggers.
Bombs crashed to the ground.
The brilliance of the blast
Glittered in the wide oceans of white eyes gaping.
.
The dark creatures in the ether shifted,
Cracked and crunched
As they stepped into reality.
Blood turned to mist.
And I had the audacity to smile.
.
Feral, full of teeth, it cracked open my face
And glinted in the dim light of despair.
Around, all around, the whispers rose.
Calm. Composed. Sweet.
It was too late for those things.
.
Too late to start spewing lies.
My hands had been dipped in the crimson pond
Of hunger
And the careful restraints wrapped around my wrists
Had snapped.
.
I turned, bare feet digging into the earth,
Before tearing through villages
I had once helped build.
Lumber splintered beneath my touch.
Rain began to fall.
.
The world was swept away in increments.
Away went the foundations,
The gentle assumptions and soft cries too.
But the soil was scarred by my footprints
And smiled around the wilderness blooming in pale eyes.
.
It was a mistake.
A delicate misphrasing of words.
You're so careful.
A meteor streaked across my eyes.
The village had already died.
.
Careful. Cautious. Quiet.
Words that fell from their lips were the mistake
That they would not live to repeat.
They snapped the shackles on my legs themselves,
Loosed the beast they had caged.
.
Winter seized my blood and nightfall possessed my mind.
It was a rampage,
A story to echo in eternity.
I was never cautious, never quiet or careful.
I was restrained.
.
My hands were slicked by the blood of the misconception
And I simply couldn't keep hold
Of the wilderness stretching wide in my thoughts.
I was restrained
And I don't pity the fool who released me.
______________________________
Silver Serpent Books
______________________________
I write in riddles a lot and this one feels a lot like that. It feels like I should add a "who am I?" at the end.
About the Creator
Silver Serpent Books
Writer. Interested in all the rocks people have forgotten to turn over. There are whole worlds under there, you know. Dark ones too, even better.
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Comments (1)
LOVE the line: Feral, full of teeth, it cracked my face...disjointed but not; like a mystery to be solved; a backstory to be gleaned! Nice!!