Drip [September 3] - Denial of the those things for whom denial is impossible.

by MB

Written September 3  

Sweat . Rain. Tears.

The sky's mood abets my heart - as close to fantastical thinking as I'll ever come. My body - creature of the earth - falls prey. She cannot avoid nature nor can she escape its inflictions. Marks and bruises down her skull, tears in her heart. Thousands of ways to mark the passing of time, yet she chooses tears.

Swallowed by grief, an emotion familiar to her. Knots of raindrops in her throat, thunder blaring beneath the sockets of her eyeballs. Heartbeat staccato insomnia. 

Wishing away the days of the year as though they are endless, as though life has not reminded her enough of its power to deprive you of its very existence.

Fists clenched to sky - why, God, why? - a refrain familiar in its fantastical haunting. 

Willing the phone to chirp.