agonia
english

v3
 

Agonia.Net | Policy | Mission Contact | Participate
poezii poezii poezii poezii poezii
poezii
armana Poezii, Poezie deutsch Poezii, Poezie english Poezii, Poezie espanol Poezii, Poezie francais Poezii, Poezie italiano Poezii, Poezie japanese Poezii, Poezie portugues Poezii, Poezie romana Poezii, Poezie russkaia Poezii, Poezie

Article Communities Contest Essay Multimedia Personals Poetry Press Prose _QUOTE Screenplay Special

Poezii Romānesti - Romanian Poetry

poezii


 


Texts by the same author


Translations of this text
0

 Members comments


print e-mail
Views: 1580 .



Expectation
personals [ Thoughts ]

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -
by [dianag ]

2004-02-12  |     | 



EXPECTATION (waiting for you)

Iā€™m sitting in my black chair.The digits shown by my stubborn clock are the same. I should relax, I should take a deep breathā€¦ through my mouth, not through my nose!
I feel my lungs shrinking. I have to suck in the air like a fish on land, with a combination between panic and excitement. It smells like mellow pears, very close to becoming rotten. Their surface is turning into a brownish shade and when you take it and bring it closer to your mouth, its odour drills through your nostrils. Itā€™s so sweetish and yet so close to its end, that you can feel the bitter stench of death. It penetrates your senses, clenches your throat and boils in your stomach.
I hear a screamā€¦no, it could have been the door bell. False alarm. I have forgotten that my mind makes a repetition for me to be prepared when the Moment comes. The Big Moment.
A spider web is tangled up with me. Iā€™m holding my breath and biteing my heart so that I can follow the spider thread which guides me through my pitch black tunnel. I do not want to lift my eyelids and see the same damp rigid wall. My road is never straight, always curved and rough.
I mock my aching body and start to bend. Iā€™m almost touching the ground with my trembleing fingers, searching for my thread. Touching it, is like touching a dogā€™s fur. Soft and rough. Smooth and spiky. Each end of its hairbreadth stings me in a bitter-sweet way. Itā€™s dirty, full of dust and I can feel the particles reaching my fingers, creeping on my arms.
I fall on my knees until I lose control and collapse. Iā€™m crawling. My hands drag my body possessed by violent convulsions. The skin is ripped to pieces and I wish I could tear apart my flesh only to reach my target sooner. Iā€™m tracking it like a dog, I want to take it and pull it faster and faster, closer and closer.
What do you think youā€™re doing? The game is not to be played like that! You are breaking the rules and the time will stop. Youā€™ll become a prisoner caught in an icebox with the sound of the ticking clocks smashing your hearing, stinging your brain like hot needles.
My mouth is invaded by a salty substance. I first think itā€™s sweat, but itā€™s more than that, itā€™s like blood. As if my entire body is liquefying and I can taste it. I can feel my tongue surrounded by a thick substance, heavy like a metal, like I have been licking the door latch, searching for a trace of a certain human touch.
The painful heart is still. She understands that I need silence. I have to dissolute in myself so that I can become ā€œIā€ again.

.  |










 
poezii poezii poezii poezii poezii poezii
poezii
poezii Home of Literature, Poetry and Culture. Write and enjoy articles, essays, prose, classic poetry and contests. poezii
poezii
poezii  Search  Agonia.Net  

Reproduction of any materials without our permission is strictly prohibited.
Copyright 1999-2003. Agonia.Net

E-mail | Privacy and publication policy

Top Site-uri Cultura - Join the Cultural Topsites!