the turning

i can feel the cold in my chest and the beating of hearts under my flesh

from the fresh wound radiates a burning chill worse than a fever

my nails dig into my flesh as a ripping burning and itching erupts in my chest

the air smells crispper and the land louder

everything is sharper

my stomach aches as i begin to heave

my body throbs

my chest lightens yet within tightens

i drag myself across dampened grounds and stumble among trees

at lasst i am home...