20-12-2013

An impulse lingers
in my mind, like a memory.
I find it, growing,
manifesting into an itch
on my skin, begging me
to lean in for relief.

I make a ripple on the surface
clawing tensely into the abyss
retaining it in my grasp -
lest I lose it, lest I forget.

A tender fear pulsates
with censure, remorse
and in painful regret.

A familiar touch beckons
tugging me across bounds
waiting for me to give in.
There is a rustling among the sheets
taunting my resolve.
But I’m scared to reveal what
lies between and beneath.

A window of escape
and a chance to break away
create a fissure and plunge
this torment into decay.

But I find myself in surrender
and extracted by the flow
I swim, I sink, I wade and drown
and finally, let go.

An empty joy escapes me.
Those sheets are quietened
by the weight they bear
of reaction and action,
resistance and submission,
and much else.

I, bereft
of my semblance,
relinquish my hold
on that which makes me whole -
On the pieces of paper
now tied to my soul.