Tired

It once again is one of those nights where I remember what I used to be. The waves of sadness and regret crash over the chitinous bars of the living cage. A storm rages just outside those bars its icy rain a cold echo of what once was. I lay my hand against the bars feeling their insectile movement and softness. The clicking grows louder at my touch and the segments writhe and twitch.

I close my eyes desperate to clear the site of the living bars from my mind only to have my mind come up with a worse picture. Shaking my head I open them again to watch the worm like carapaces of the bars twist as they snap to life shuddering with new found freedom. Just beyond them something is shaking free of the desert sand. Rising and stretching towards the oil slick sky it struggles up from the mud with a preternatural shriek.

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About Killingdanse

I am the girl that was pretty but too smart. I am the girl that you sat and discussed horror movies, sci-fi novels, and molecular genetics with but were scared of because sometimes you saw the darkness peak out from inside me.
This entry was posted in Deranged, Quiet Insanity, Schizophrenic Architecture. Bookmark the permalink.

6 Responses to Tired

  1. tommyssummer says:

    Dear KD you sent me to the dictionary twice in this piece. But I was very engaged with your writing. I am curious about what is out there in the ‘desert’? Hope or nightmare?

  2. Sleeping pills? For the avoidance of doubt, just the one at a time…

  3. Kavita Joshi says:

    very nicely expressed

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