Slick Hands

A mistake.

A mistake breathed life into the black creatures

Swaying weakly in my thoughts,

Drunken men rambling uselessly

Amidst cerebral scholars.

.

It came on the coattails of dusk.

Cool fingers brushed away the fever of civility

Beading with sweat upon my brow.

Arctic storms slipped into my lungs

Carrying the ash of an explosion.

.

It was sweet, ambrosia on my tongue.

I suckled and drank as the glint left my eyes.

Fog settled.

It almost hurt as it scraped across my teeth and bit

Into eager red lips.

.

Iron slicked my mouth.

Slipped over my lips with words like daggers.

Bombs crashed to the ground.

The brilliance of the blast

Glittered in the wide oceans of white eyes gaping.

.

The dark creatures in the ether shifted,

Cracked and crunched

As they stepped into reality.

Blood turned to mist.

And I had the audacity to smile.

.

Feral, full of teeth, it cracked open my face

And glinted in the dim light of despair.

Around, all around, the whispers rose.

Calm. Composed. Sweet.

It was too late for those things.

.

Too late to start spewing lies.

My hands had been dipped in the crimson pond

Of hunger

And the careful restraints wrapped around my wrists

Had snapped.

.

I turned, bare feet digging into the earth,

Before tearing through villages

I had once helped build.

Lumber splintered beneath my touch.

Rain began to fall.

.

The world was swept away in increments.

Away went the foundations,

The gentle assumptions and soft cries too.

But the soil was scarred by my footprints

And smiled around the wilderness blooming in pale eyes.

.

It was a mistake.

A delicate misphrasing of words.

You're so careful.

A meteor streaked across my eyes.

The village had already died.

.

Careful. Cautious. Quiet.

Words that fell from their lips were the mistake

That they would not live to repeat.

They snapped the shackles on my legs themselves,

Loosed the beast they had caged.

.

Winter seized my blood and nightfall possessed my mind.

It was a rampage,

A story to echo in eternity.

I was never cautious, never quiet or careful.

I was restrained.

.

My hands were slicked by the blood of the misconception

And I simply couldn't keep hold

Of the wilderness stretching wide in my thoughts.

I was restrained

And I don't pity the fool who released me.

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Silver Serpent Books

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I write in riddles a lot and this one feels a lot like that. It feels like I should add a "who am I?" at the end.