August 14, 2020
Draft 2
The house of my escape is the house of my undoing. Dark mountains stare over the valley and await the ultimate decision in who possesses my soul. A fight I did not choose to enter yet it encompasses the very nerves at my core. Sunset to sunrise remain the hardest hours wherein the push pull drags on without permission. The sky encourages the earth to refuse her efforts to take me back. My mind meanders forward in wait for my bones to become part of this mountain, and my soul to sit gracefully without peace among the high grass.
The three parts of my being--elements who comprise my unfortunate whole--never get along. Even now, with the breeze brushing through the grasses cascading past my form into the fields below, there is a constant unease spoken amongst the Jasmine leaves.
The memories were a warning I didn't heed--undue punishments for a negging I rejected years ago bind me here. Now, per less than chance, my mind is left here isolated to wander through history on repeat. An eternal cycle of hell especially designed for a body, a mind, a soul, who dares not rest while others draw near.
The dissipation of eagerness to fight, to survive in constant disagreement with the parts of my whole involve unrelenting energy the mountains cannot disguise. What's left for my soul? The ability to wander in sheer ignorance ended long ago.
The aged dwelling waits in rest for a quiet entrance. Her empty shell abandoned by a form who struggled to understand how to communicate thoughts buried deep within, sends an invitation for unrestful contemplation. The building boasts the stains, bruises, and obvious imperfections of her structure on the outside while her eye glows burgundy.
To hide is an unattainable solution. There is no way to hide from a past while it plays on repeat. Without a path of escape the parts of my whole remain stuck within the corporal body that allows the anguish to occur as it pleases. A body that encases the ever-growing argument on how to act, live, and survive in a world not made for the energies thrust upon it without consent.
The sweet scent of Jasmine seeks to calm the rushing energy pulsing through my veins.
Breathe in. One. Two. Three.
Heaven.
Slowly exhale. Four. Five. Six. Seven. Eight. Nine. Ten.
The ground shivers with the wind nudging focus back to this golden plain.
A long exhale follows another breath in and pushes the unwanted energy from my body through the field. Whispering our secrets to the base of the ravine just past these woods to forever be cradled in the arms of mother earth. Each superseding breath fails to remove the visions upon exit. A moment without memory fails to reach the space deep in my mind shriveling the soul and reinforcing disconnect between my three pieces.
Breathe in. One. Two. Three.
Heaven.
Slowly exhale. Four. Five. Six. Seven. Eight. Nine. Ten.
Breaths fail to heal.
The window calls, and yet the grasses weave their tendrils around my legs refusing to release. Leaves work to shroud my body from the haze of the exposed sky that darkens with haste.
Curses on nature for refusing to allow her power to heal the ache of our past. Nightmares play on repeat in isolation. Loneliness rots away desire, drive, and any distractions which once could pull my attention to the moments ahead. Time is of ill importance here waning between indiscernible points. The sun sets and rises just the same. The hours, minutes, days are inconsequential.
Stuck. I'm stuck. My mind, body, and soul vacillate in different plains.
This was just a cruel joke of the wind, the mind, and each fake smiling face I encountered. The first step involved removing the smiling faces who held me back with pity. Thriving only lasts for so long--in this case, maybe a few hours. To cry atop a field meant to inspire every emotion only gives you time to plan. To envy individuals free from the contemplations ever existent in the nightmares they'd bestowed.
Thoughtfulness, complexity, and a daft unknown of the infliction a moment of cruel intention can place on another individual is lost on others. The ones doing the inflicting that is. Rather, I'm stuck in this space--in this limbo--to question where their intention stemmed. The wrong decision or missteps that lead to the presence of an invisible hand upon my lungs and throat.
I'd grown so used to the invisible hand, of the forever ride to journey from fear within, I'd not been able to decipher this time was different.
Breathe in. One. Two. Three.
Heaven.
Slowly exhale. Four. Five. Six. Seven. Eight.
Gasp. Nine. Ten.
The hand softens to a gentle cradle, causing stress on my lungs and squeezing my full body. Reassurance through your warm touch and golden glow engulfs my senses and awakens the memories shoved deep in a space once blocked by blackness. Tingles overcome the three parts of my being that sit side-by-side as I follow my meditation into this meadow to overlook this domicile. The suffocation of my soul was less memory and more a vision, a warning, one which held me back the first time.
Breathe in. One. Two. Three.
Heaven.
Slowly exhale. Four. Five. Six. Seven. Eight. Nine. Ten.
The memories rush with force painting the blackness with each suppressed account. Pain stabs through my head and my eyes slam shut. My palms move to my head and press against my temples. How dare you return to reinforce my struggle.
Breathe. Stretch. Fight.
Tendrils release my legs once the sun sets and the earth pushes my body forward. The burgundy light guides my soul's path and fuses my trio whole once again in the same manner as yesterday and the day before in preparation for another round tomorrow.
Topic: Second Draft: Stuck in Limbo (Read 1360 times)