keila

I open my eyes to a panicked reality. My eyes close again, I raise a hand to my mouth, my nose. That reality now stains my fingers, darker against skin that has paled. I reach out around me to right myself, pulling at a white sheet with my unstained hand. All around me has become a vast, gray tapestry of solitude. Wincing in pain I stand and look around, air is stuck in my throat; pain and confusion obscure my sight. I swallow; my throat is constricted against the blood. I am unsure of it origin. I take a step, my foot is tangled in white; stumbling I reach out into grayness but the tapestry is too far away. I seek out openings where the air isnt so choking and I can see where I am. I need to wash the taste of my insecure reality from my lips and off my hands. A reality that doesnt fit, a child playing dress-up. Lost in a world by following a road in the wrong direction. Paved by external objectives, Ive never had.