What Slips in Through the Lines

Entering the darkened cavern of my reverie ([dropping all pretense of covering or paint] {stripping years} and presumption away). Snow starts falling* and drops the temperature* even during the day. Trudging in and out… waiting for breaks in the precipitation… to drag the logs back… or the warmth might die away. Even though I refill the fuel — the thermometer keeps dropping day after day — I start to fade away until finally — the sticks stop crackling. My pointless drudgery has inched to an end. Quietly coming to a state of solidity. My fingers fall on an open pad with pencil & paper /kindling\ to restore hardened hide to softened life. Steam slowly hissing off of pale speckled flesh. In the dancing sparks; as they fly off of me: One could almost swear they see fairies “dart and weave” touching every tiny hair and freckle > leaping in through the birthmark on my leg. Filling me with warmth and energy. Enough to stand and make it through! The words start pouring out of me~ in a shuddering uncertain pump action: : like a sputtering bloody cough. Force building to a blow, revealing the source:::: like a cancer that had been growing unknowingly in the pit of my lungs % waiting to burst and be released. With every word I expel<* more wickedness stored inside me gets torched away by the ignited fae “*” burning with passion fluttering inside me =clearing the way= until they escape in a cloud of burning hot air. Taking with them the last of the condensation clinging to my interior. I am left with words _-=stenciled all over the walls of this cave=-_ in blackened soot. There is a poisonous bile”,, dripping from the holes in reality,, created by the shadows”,, of the 2D”,, letters,, when the sun goes down”,, each night, that can be co’’llected, bu”t don’t let’’ it touch your skin, you wil”l be permanently driven m’’,,ad…”,,

K.B. Silver

*:･ﾟ⛰︎ ོ ༄࿐ ࿔*:･ﾟ࿐ ࿔*:･ﾟ⛰︎ ོ ༄࿐ ࿔*:･ﾟ࿐ ࿔*:･ﾟ⛰︎ ོ ༄࿐ ࿔*:･ﾟ࿐ ࿔*:･ﾟ⛰︎ ོ ༄࿐

Sorry if you read this on a mobile device. I have a feeling that my intended formatting only holds up on the desktop site. Of course, I may have stared too long into the great beyond and leapt into the crowded pool of the permanently mad. So, it may not translate on any screen. I tend to be a bit overzealous when it comes to commas, brackets, quotation marks, asterisks, and any other punctuation marks I can get my scrabbling fingers on. So, instead of properly punctuating, I decided to use a poetic license. Paint a picture not just with my words but evoke feelings, and pictures with the markings separating them as well. I hope you enjoyed it and it didn’t make your brain itch; sorry to the grammar lawyers.