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Grey

It starts somewhere near my stomach
An emptiness
Black. Cold. Dark.
But darkness that sucks light
A coldness that removes heat
A blackness that defies the bright
It moves up to my heart
Fear. Pain. Sorrow.
It squeezes my heart with an icy grip
A spectral hand bound by iron gauntlets
Binding my heart with iron straps
Constricting.
Then it moves to my throat
Choking me.
I can't breathe.
But I find I don't care.
Because I don't really want to live.
The pressure builds, climbs
Until it leaks out my eyes.
Hot. Angry. Furious.
Trickling down my cheeks unchecked
Into my beard.
Or into my pillow.

Is there no balm in Gilead?

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