Black Tar

It's gumming me up inside, I'm clogged with darkness.

I can't express it, it's run through me again and again, red hot, then cooling and holding me, squeezing me, smothering me.

Do you know what its like to wake up in the middle of the night, panicking, gasping for a breath you've lost in the darkness, trying to calm the racing pulse in your ears, swallowing dry mouthfuls of air trying to breathe, to control yourself, only to break down into cold sweats and tears, shaking like a leaf, trembling as your muscles clench and freeze up and relax and go numb all at the same time, no control of your body, to hear the whimpers and realize they're your own?

Do you know what it's like?

Do you?

I don't think you do. If you did, would this be the story we tell about how it all went down?

I think now, that if you did, you wouldn't be dead inside. But you are. Dead or dying.

Have you accepted it yet?

The shell that is your life, cradled around an empty pit.

You wish you were a poet and had words like mine, but all you are is meat to be wasted, blood to run over cold stones and bones to lay out under the sun, and not even carrion scavengers would grace you with their presence.

One day, when I catch my breath, and I calm myself and I can look out into the night again, you'll be dead to me too, as you should be.