Point Blank

Choke hold, muscle, stone.
There, not only in essence, but also in form.
Once a comfort, now the trigger of a blow I've become accustomed to.
Still now, it lingers on the edges of what once was and will be.
A haunting inflicting, not fear, but mourning.
I feel it rise in my chest, overtaking logic in its wake.
My own tiny death and rebirth,
Manifested, as a last resort,  
in the build of these delusions.
Say your prayers, read your cards, cast your spells,
All in hopes to forsake these subliminal betrayals.
I wish it away, these postcards of trauma, stress.
But wishes are like fairytales, 
And I'm too old to believe.
And so the dolor is bundled,
Enveloping my judgement,
Barricading this fortress.
I bite my lip until I taste the metal of the gun at which I'm held.

Reviews

[Lorry]

Superb. This reads very quick and panicked, just like the thoughts in your head must be screaming, as the clarity, and alarm of the last line is read, which reads like the calmest thought, despite being themost obviously dangerous. Great piece.

[joshua deathdealer]

This is brilliant Sarah. Original and refreshing. I loved the wording and flow. Welcome to WC. I'm glad your here. xx