Pierce.

A devoid mind due to shaking.

 

Fingers itching for your throat.

 

Frequency blinds rage;

cleaver to mask each note.

 

An unsettling darkness consumes.

 

Frantic motions for light to conquer. 

 

No more willing to keep them shut;

eyes adjust and resume.

 

Small, short sounds spill out;

hitting only what they're aimed for.

Silence hangs once more.

Author's Note

Criticism should always be constructive. ;)

Reviews

[I Shred This Cabbage]

this is beauitfully sparse. like its all that could be forced out. i think your own line says it best,

Small, short sounds spill out;
hitting only what they're aimed for.

well done :)

[zainul]

Lovely write.
The last line looks awesome.