Le Petite Mort

My view and my perspective are

Shifted

Upside down I can only see from

Altered View

Barely coherent I can’t register

The shapes I see

Images cast shadows that bounce and reflect

In my desperation I want….

Contact…

God said we were not meant to be alone

and

I find myself

Reaching out

Trembling fingers can’t grasp

I hold on to what I can

Though

My grasp is as fleeting as

My thoughts

Nothing stays

it’s all transitional

When hands fail, voice reacts

I find myself screaming

Wishing for help

Screaming to concepts that won’t respond

What would I do if ever my screams yielded?

If  answered?

My sobbing met?…

The shaking consumes me as sobs wrack my body

My vision fades black  

Sensation overtakes me

For now I have control

Tthough I suppose I always did

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