Breaking Point


A long dark piercing scream has manifested its
way through my brain. Slow cold fingers press,
then poke hard driving a mad serge of electric
pulse that throbs. The penetrating sickness,
this cruel entity of thought, lingers like
a rotting chard corpes. Breath gets caught in
glove of terror before escaping. My
diolated pupils search franticaly. Jerking ever
so often to spy on warped fragments of space
that look as if to split and spew forth
something wicked. Bubbles form from matter
surrounding. Caught! Trapped! Is Claustraphobia
going to make me crack? And that persistant
scream grows and over scedes it's childish
toying to and adolesent ripping. I
scrape my finger nails across the surface
of my scalp to excite the energy of
laughter. Ther laughter of the thousand.
And just before my head belches every
noice from within I look and see this
little red ball that brings an ever so
gentle tire to these apothetic eyes
of mine then and finally the conclution.
Black, then red, then yellow,
then white! Blinding white and
I smile, calm, cool, no one really knows
who that third gunman on the grassy
knoll was anyway!
Now Do They?