Soft taps, like the echoes of toddlers' footsteps on marble,
Slowly creep into the skin beside my aching left eye.
My eyelids drop like epic thunder.
Both sets of eyelashes rushing to embrace the other side.
The light disappears,
As I seek the momentary sanctuary of the transparent darkness.
And then…
She speaks,
Again.
Brightness attacks my eyes with a frightening ferocity
As my eyelashes are reluctantly forced to separate.
Words continue their journey beyond her lips.
The toddlers have grown into children: hyperactivity their only trait.
Their footsteps now run rampant,
Spreading around my eyes and tantalizingly, steadily creeping towards my temples in an excruciating game of hide and seek.
Dodging behind my brain-cells and digging around until they find the perfect spot to hide: in the folds between my brain's hemispheres.
I inhale sharply,
My tightening throat ripping apart with a gush of oxygenated molecules.
The damn children morph into adolescents, seeking the sanctuary of the dark they crawl in pairs into my lungs.
My breaths turn shallow,
The sharp orgasmic inhaling of the crazed mating teenagers stealing purity out of my gasps.
Still,
She speaks.
Oblivious to the torment her agonizing utterances provoke in me.
The Dead Sea threatening eruption;
I try to close my eyes.
But No.
Sick of their separation my eyelashes have divorced, they refuse to meet.
All I can do is gaze at her,
My forced sight seeing right through her, into her.
What ugliness.
She seethes:
"Why aren't you saying anything!?"
Does she not see how her words have dissected me?
I cough.
I try to talk,
The adolescents now adults fight to pour out of my mouth.
They seek emancipation.
I seal my lips.
She's not ready to hear what I have to say.