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.