blood is crystalizing within your veins,
as if it’s mastering the art of sculpting.
for you start losing movement as pain
preaches through your body, and your
limbs solidifying with the sound of the day.
music penetrates faster into your ear,
your brain translates stimuli as if
it’s an intruder, while your eyes fighting
every time you try to blink.
the brain-fog settles in;
your synapses have forgotten
all the paths back home,
‘was there even a route back
home?’ you start to question.
it’s not even this that alarms you -
it’s the inevitability of what is to
follow. hours later, the jeering
winds alert you to the cuts on
your bloodied knuckles,
your vision vignetting
‘is it sunrise or sunset?’
you don’t have an answer.
you’re only certain of the
moon, and she’s nowhere
to be found.
**Collab with hiraeth:
https://www.poems-and-quotes.com/poets/507104
