Midnight Burning

The midnight sun burned me up; I was up lingering in the faded ember of her deep, ravishing smile. That grand old time where I was truly alive. When my world was blanketed, coated, covered.

That soft, tingly, bone-in-chill sort of blanket.

That one sort of crystalline beauty that created a zest for seeing your own yells come to life in the air, puffy and white and full of playfulness. I'd lay on a hill and let the all the white become a better part of who I was, that crinkly and perfect form of water that I longed to keep in my heart.

But, alas, she was now lost. And the midnight burning lasts longer than I can admit, every minute on the hour. Every bleeding second of my everything, my seething vitriol and reason to keep existing in this hell on earth.

Do you know how you can sometimes still feel a limb even if it's been cut off? A phantom twitch, an imperceptible pinch of lost nerves, stealing away your sanity. Stealing away your very sense of time and space and energy.

Without the first burst of curled up brown, orange and red leaves collected into mulch, and that nip in the air that told us all the cycle of life was on schedule.

I realized my body was heating up to something that felt like the internal temperature of a dying star.

I saw my hand evaporate a small amount of water in a cup, into a puff of wispy nothing. Was I evolving? I'm scared.

I can't cry. I can't move. The whole earth is burning up and all I can do is try to reach out and try to remember…

I feel myself rise as rain evaporating into the clouds. I'll save them all.