In the calm of the day, there brews a storm.
The bright sun merely a lie, casting harsh shadows of doubt.
My every nerve alert.
Not a cloud in the sky
but lightning is sure to strike at any moment.
My chest, heavy with anticipation of what may come.
Impaled with a painful blade
a deep scythe to harvest my happiness.
A deep sigh to sustain my shallow breath.
My soul bleeds and I grow weak.
Like a lion on the hunt
it preys upon my weakest moment.
Its kill is violent and without remorse.
It devours my sanity and leaves a rotting carcass of fear.
With rapture, I pray the taste of tomorrow is sweet.
That it will remove the bitterness of yesterday and the salt of today.
I fear it will be rancid and vile
but my hunger will force me to swallow yet another day.
The war within me rages.
My mind, the enemy that chases me in my retreat.
It relentlessly pursues me through the sanctuary of sleep
to the very edge of my life.
With no place to run, I turn and fall to my knees.
Exhausted, I bow my head as my fate approaches.
Blood oozes from my wounded soul and pools around me.
Sweat stings my eyes as I look up at my foe, prepared to fight.
To my dismay, there is no one there.
©Troy White 2011