In Secure Expressions

Bloody fingertips shaking feverishly, caressing a furrowed sweaty brow. Thick head filled with humid nightmares collecting in every crease in the bed-sheet. Pillow soaked on both sides, body drained and frozen cannot rise and face the new tide. No surprise what fears lurk in the empty chamber, not even pieces of the beating pulse that once reared their heads continually can be found.

Deceased phantoms facilitate unwilling progress. So happy to be in the sun now, so free to feel the wind in the face now. No disgrace on the bottom of those shoes, no matter how many piss-filled stone corners of a wasted and hungry world they travel. Whose to say the empty, scared, lonely, hollowed shell of a being he was now, was not a far cry from my ferocious childhood in the end besides.

Wandering and dreaming boy, lost control of his spell, became part of his own creation. Infestation of love misplaced, none to sustain my face now. Cold skin lingers all over my bones. And not for want of pushing all the buttons as carefully and in all the incandescent patterns as possible. Focused and facing all the swinging causeways that life has to offer. None can soften the blows that your own being becomes. Find it and own it. Take care of it.

-Ed Tajchman