Darkness.
Pure black darkness.
A complete absence of light.
An incomplete silence.
Something
Is moving.
I can hear a smoothing sound
Like a hand sliding along a wall.
I can see
Nothing.
The sound surrounds me now
Seems near and far at once.
Is it in me?
Is the sound from within me?
I am warm.
Sweat trickles from my armpit
Runs down my neck,
A tickle, uncomfortable,
Making my skin quiver.
Am I naked?
I push my foot forward,
Sliding along, not stepping
Not knowing where I am
What is around me.
I reach forward, both hands,
Carefully,
Extended fingers grasping
For something
Finding nothing
That I want to find.
There is a smell,
Sweet, strong,
Disgusting.
I can almost taste it.
My mouth dries
I swallow nothing.
I feel the flesh on my back
Crawling like a living thing.
I move forward again.
There is nothing in the air.
Just that sibilance,
That sliding, slithering shush.
Is it me?
Then the slithering stops.
There is no sound.
Pure silence.
And then the darkness
Reaches out
And touches me.
Writing Me Up 