To Weigh the Black and White

If silence weeps, let it scatter into a million tiny fragments, as mellow as the embers of a fire -

Burning rods, scattered thoughts, sharp as metal, scraping the edges of the prism of life undertow.

Eyes shut. Dark breathes.

Stark, raw, exposed. Attuned to the permeated air, rasping with my breath's unknown gravity.

Present yet absent, disoriented yet madly attuning to the ...

Time hides, sneaking its way under my armpits, lifting me higher above the void.

I am struck with the blow of weight. It blares, like a large balloon, desperately tearing away at its tight string.

To find purpose amidst the monochrome, my features struck with outlines of life's stubborn imprints.

Strands of hair strike smartly against my hot skin, awakening my dark. Outside, slithered moonlight, bare streets.

Flat heart.

Deep steps.

Lines between feet and bitumen blurred.

To sink into gravel's smartness, rolling across the rough road and tangling myself within the soles of direction.

What steps are there to take? Why didn't someone show me?

To weigh the black and white, measure it for decision. The pull of past moments fail my focus.

I am new to this game.

Deep breaths, raspy fog, cold night. Blue fingers, barely grasping, failing to zip my hoodie.

To force a thought, non forthcoming. Soul rattling as the train steams passed.

How many trains have I missed?

Empty station, echoes of sobs. Familiar yet distant, alerting me to ...

Tears that drop like chiseled fire from my cheeks.

Its been an age since I cried.

I am heavy in the nothingness.

Night lingers, striking steps, soft lights glow.

Awake. The station blares. A train pulls in, mass exits carriages.

A groggy statue, disoriented in the sea of swarm. Loud voices, heavy steps, blasting signal ...

My heart shakes, hands flail, rubbing hands together, warming up.

Eyes meet, wild hair, stern eyes.

Can she be ...?

No, a rotational blur, caught in the mayhem of the pushers and shovers, night not ceasing the hurry.

The hoodie swelters, my skin sweats and the haze builds, station lights blurring my focus.

No clock time is freeing. The present seems unrelenting, raw and waiting. Yet which hole do I press myself into?

There is no guide to show me ...

A sole figure, silhouette struck against flat white wall, a steady beacon in the mad motion.

Alluring -

Eyes wandering -

Scraping my gaze -

I gasp, heart rattling, knowing ...

A strike of fear, whiplashes smartly inside, a warning bell.

To engage or abort?

The hum of silence; the figure shuffles, collecting its bag, making way to leave.

Stepping firmly, tightening frame, sucking breath, ingesting raw panic.

Seconds to go ...

Passing figure, scraping its clutched fist with my fingers. Catching the asset in my palm.

Sixty seconds and counting.

Pressing on by, not daring to look back. Skipping the stairs of ascendance to the top.

Outside, breathing erratically, tearing hoodie away, exposing wet skin.

Night air strikes sharply, like a slap, awakening me with its freshness.

The weigh in my palm. It burns like a raging stamp, marking me.

Riding the wave of ... the unknown.

A heavy metal bottle, shaking with liquid, non descriptive.

My phone's alarm buzzes, I jump metres high.

Two minutes to go. Should I ...?

Inhaling a large breath, stomach shaking.

Eyes darting, checking clearance.

Stark night. Moonlight glares. Stars witness.

Unscrewing the bottle cap.

Sniffing the strong, floral scent.

Hands shake, heart pulls.

One more deep, rattling breath, met with a loud, passing train.

Sculling the liquid, wiping my lips, digging the bottle ... into my jean pocket.

Night is stark, its silence deafening. Life holds in its unbalance, the unknown a weight that fills the raw moments.

I am a passenger ..

spinning ...

within the void of dark's temporary train.

You have sixty seconds and counting ...

to find me.