i woke up at three a.m. my eyes wide breathing hard and shaking.
a sharp intake of breath works to calm my nerves while my fingers ache and my hands tremble unfeeling. i arouse my legs to wakefulness— slide them from the warm comfort of my bed to the piercing chill of the hard wooden floor.
coat on, feet slipped into boots; i go for a walk hoping that a trip ‘round the block will calm the sudden gaping fissure inside of me. after the door swings shut behind me, i turn to face the unyielding darkness.
with my breath condensing into a moist cloud in front i confront the empty street. her tenebrous maw snaps at my unprotected ankles; her chill wind cracks my lips, leaving them ******. i feel her reaching deep inside of me grasping at where there is nothing.
when i see the ice accumulating on the neighbors’ lawns, i realize that an under-dressed walk through the murky night might not have been the best idea. only then do i question why i’m here. what i’m doing, wandering the dark corridors of our quiet suburb, sheltered from reality.
it’s disconcerting to be lost, isn’t it?
This is a draft of a piece I've been working on. I've been playing particularly with punctuation and capitalization; I'm trying to experiment with the kind of mood it lends to the piece. The working title is just that, a working title, and I'd really like some criticism of it. Thanks, ladies and gents.