The Restless Storm

3am, the witching hour

When self-doubt oozes through
The maze of fissures in my skull
Pickling my brain in the brine of
Stifled fears, shivering in unease
A slow poison that drips down
My nerves in acidic rivulets

I feel myself disintegrating
Explosive protein destruction
My heart, the great betrayer
The fleshy organ, is rotting
The smell: saccharine fermenting
Fills my nostrils with iron and lust

My eyes close to shut out the void
Seemingly safe behind barred lashes
Still, the insides of my eyelids play
All my greatest follies on repeat
My flaws tattooed on cells and fibers
Neurons and retinas dyed scarlet

There are no hands, but
My own to wield weapons
There are no tongues, but
My own to tell lies
There are no beds, but
My own to find respite in

Insomnia, conscious nightmare

Finally found rest round 5am

Switched off to sleep at thunder's clap
A few hours tortured, anxious slumber
Then waking slick with sickly sweat
Like the windows shrouded in fog
Primordial dampness clings to reality
I wake and go running in the rain

The trees are trembling in warning
Thick trunks dancing with danger
The pavement is secreting worms
Drowning, writhing in agony for air
Dead leaves fall in sunny colors
Weighted down by the wetness

Soft suffocation, deafening silence
Blinding grey, torpid exertion
The atmosphere is crashing down on
My body, encased in soaked skin
My muscle and bone collaboration
Struggling through utter saturation

The world in fractals is tessellating
The sky in billows is coalescing
Fly, form, fold, fall on
Fly, form, fold, fall on me
I keep moving, I keep up
Hasting on with the clouds

Nature strikes down with awe


  1. Sachi, this writing is wonderful. I'm sure you felt sublimely awesome after running with the storm.


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