We sit falling.
Looking at the walls. Hands, small. Roof, arms, wrists, skin. Anything. That is nothing, really. We sit falling. Making movement, creating crimson, on our skin. From our hands that are rub rub rubbing. At arms, wrists, skin. Anything. To stop us from falling. Fear of everything. Everything, and nothing. Fear that soaks the brain and drips into every vein. Black black clouds and screeching calories. Long sleeves. Bones. A sick sad. We drip. With fear. We are everything. Everything and nothing, they say. As we watch wall. Hands, small. Roof, arms, wrists, skin. It’s not quite something they say. Not even anything. So we rub harder at our skin. Get sharp sharper. Scream that we are falling again, that it is crimson crimson again. We scratch the black, etch it into our skin. That we are nothing Nothing nothing. I scream in crimson. Scream in blood and black and everything, that is a big part of this empty nothing. That this this this is something. That we are dying. That they are smiling, smiling, as we are dying. Drowning. In our very own crimson. But they still sit. Watching. Smiles saying, This is not even anything. It is nothing, really.
So we learn, to retreat to walls. And hands, small.
Thank you so much for reading, This is a written response to today’s word prompt ‘retreat‘. I hope you all enjoyed!
I also hope you has an absolutely amazing Christmas, and have a very very happy new year!