Cycle

March 6, 2010

The screams fill my head, always pushing to get out. Nothing ever wants to stay where it is.

When I finally find something solid; I cling like a rock in a stream. But reality alters, terra firma slipping between my fingers. Scalding molten rock burns like silky ice.

Frozen in place I am swept away. Further towards death I always fall, the flailing darkness I try to claw.

I open my mouth, only to have my lungs fill with the void. I struggle to free myself; find something to anchor me. I think I hear a voice, and angel? But the screams fill my head, always pushing to get out.

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