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Cracks In The Wall
Justin Forgues 1985 (Massachusetts)
I remember the very first. When I initially felt it. There was no sound. No visuals. Only the scent of something dead. I woke up several times and lit the candles that illuminated my room.
Midnight is what the wrapper read. Anything to cover up the stench in my nostrils. I tried hard to fall back asleep. Yet I could still feel eyes on me.
You know the sensation of someone staring at you, yet no one is around?
That is how it felt. And in the awkwardness I tried to concentrate on my breathing.
Inhaling deeply, exhaling slowly. As I did I will admit, a sense of relaxation came across me.
I can only guess that it was then, at that moment when my guard loosened....
The room became somehow smaller. My easy breathing became short and hard to maneuver. I could hear a slight ringing in my ears, yet all else was silent. I could no longer feel warmth from my covers. Only the small hairs of my forearms and neck standing on there own.
The ringing gets louder as I prop myself to a seated position apon my bed. The eyes, the thickness of the air, the tingles that shifted through my entire body.
This was not right.
What is that? A small sound coming from the corner of my room. Right where the ends meet themselves in a crash that I would have rather forgotten.
You see, this is not my room. This is not my bed. These are not my things to see and feel. Sadly though I am doomed to do so. Over and over again.
As it seems I am the last of my family with this curse. I assume, pray and hope that it dies with me. So I dare to end it. I have to, there is no choice.
I take my right foot, slowly slide it along the bed. Then allow the weight of it to work it's way down. Not touching the floor just yet. But allowing toes to briskly scratch across the carpet.
I would normally be petrified at this moment. But so many nights, played on repeat have trained me otherwise.
It's almost funny in my sick jest. That I can actually hear the ringing of my ears. Speaking not just low muddled tones. But words I am able to faintly hear.
It is hard to make clear. So as I put weight apon my right foot. I slide my left closer to it. Cascading underneath silkened sheets and a heavy blanket.
Both legs together, left hand pressed apon the mattress near my hip and right hand placed apon an old hutch to the right.
I think of how to lower myself down, whilst continuing to focus on the sounds coming forth from that meeting of the two points in the wall.
I lean forward, ever slowly. As my body is continually shaking and harder to control.
But as I get myself down to the floor. I feel no more chills. No more thickening air. The hairs former spiked have subsided.
As I soften myself to the carpet below. Apon Elbows an knees I crawl to that one point. That one point of the room where I could never see clearly into.
And although I can not see it, for the room is the pitch of midnight. I can hear it. I move closer and closer. The sound becoming louder and louder. Much more distinct now.
As I go closer though. I can faintly see an old ribbon maybe? Or tatters of a piece of clothing?
I actually find it to be a piece of paper. Tattered by the looks of it. Timeworn and wearied. My curiosity at this point has me both terrified and inquisitive.
So I reach out my right hand. Finger tips of my index and pointer finger jus barely able to pinch what is buried in that corner.
Even though my hands are shaking, body is sweating and my heart is beating a thousand drums in my head.
I grab it quickly. Then pull it towards me and in extreme haste I get myself back into the bed.
Now here is where I get worried.... I have had bad dreams before, I have had nightmares. But this....
This was something different and as I clutched the paper in my hand, I heard those words that were ever growing louder from before.
I tried to maintain some semblance of sanity as I reached my left hand to meet my right and spread open the paper scrap.
Withought me ever needing to read. Yet as my eyes followed. I could clearly hear it now being read to me.....
"Long have I lived here. In the spaces between this and that, here and there. Amongst the wounds that always open and fail to mend.
Where the two ends meet side by side and scabs never heal. Lest be thankful, for tonight you have found me....
As I am your misery and I will never leave you abandoned"
Submitted by jfgoldsgym on May 30, 2021
- 4:14 min read
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|Scheme||X A XB AC X A DE X X X F X X F E X X X D X B X X G G X X X A XA C|
|Stanza Lengths||1, 1, 2, 2, 1, 1, 2, 1, 1, 1, 1, 1, 1, 1, 1, 1, 1, 1, 1, 1, 1, 1, 1, 1, 1, 1, 1, 1, 1, 2, 1|
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"Cracks In The Wall" Poetry.com. STANDS4 LLC, 2023. Web. 22 Mar. 2023. <https://www.poetry.com/poem/101309/cracks-in-the-wall>.
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