The clock's on the wall
Broken windmill
There's no wind at all
I've yelled and I cursed
If i stay here I'll rust
I'm stuck like a shipwreck
Out here in the dust."
-Tom Waits, Whistle Down the Wind
A stuttering ellipses of flashbacks.
Awake now.
Darkness curled around the heart like a fist. Smell of blood beneath the fingernails. Loose teeth. New scars.
Shirt spattered with gore. Crimson camoflaged as orange by distant, flickering neon. Dark stains on the sand of the beach. Boardwalk creaks above.
Shake the head. Clear it. Clear it. Blink. Breathe. The cool breath of autumn against wet skin, a taste of copper, warm belly, warm belly, richsweethotnicetaste Concentrate. Concentrate. Spike in the head, hot and heavy.
Fingers tracing scars and ridges. Stroking the skin, begging for memory. Her scream, highfalteringstaccato sharp whiff of cordite and the ocean filling the mouth
Bubbling, mewling sounds from the thing on the beach.
Back away. Back away. Force down the seductive murmuring rage. Feed the hunger its own dark nightmare.
Just breathe.
Just...keep...moving.
No comments:
Post a Comment