Away Raging Hordes

d323728469d2805fe74fc7510f3410fb

 

Heat rises in a corner of my mind to blind

and numb senses once cool and coherent.

Thoughts race in a twisted arc now spent

on the floor my creativity like old fat rind

on a butcher’s bloody floorboards.

 

Objectives crease my scalp with bitter line

while obstacles pierce my soul with cutting

sharpness blighting my resolve, shutting

down my reason to a thread so brittle fine,

holding me back with spiteful cords.

 

Energy fades, a setting sun in deep winter,

and I choke on bile drawn up from a well

of dark despair where demons only dwell

to hack and cut me, smash me to splinter

under their dull flashing swords.

 

But lie cadaver still, and breath, breath slow

letting fresh clean air creep through my veins

like melt water washing winter’s ice, the pains

of biting frost from the menace of bitter snow

helping me sleep away raging hordes.

 

 

Malek Montag,

Rochester, 2016

 

Follow me on Twitter @Malek_Montag15

 

Picture Credit: https://s-media-cache-ak0.pinimg.com/originals/d3/23/72/d323728469d2805fe74fc7510f3410fb.jpg

 

 

About malekmontag

I am a writer and a wage-slave, and proud father of George Giraffe. I live in the UK, but I exist everywhere. My first stories were published this year (2016) in Short Stories and Tall Tales (Atla Publishing). Follow me on Twitter @Malek_Montag15. My Work is also available on Niume.com.
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