I thought I was lying still today,
Like the quiet puddle by my face.
I thought my head stood poised
On my shoulders.
And my breath left evenly from my still lips.
I thought.
Looking at the reflecting bloody pool before me,
From the corner of my eye, I saw.
Barely discernible,
A strand of hair, trembling.
I tried to stay its motions, and bring it to the calm
Stillness I desired,
But it refused my desperate cries.
And then, in a sheer show of defiance,
The tremble grew.
Tingling across my cheeks, running down my back,
Releasing the stiffness I had succumbed to.
The still that I had welcomed.
The painful tremble grew, exploding across my arms,
Stretching my weary legs.
The pain blossomed from my gut, and the
Scarlet pool flowed outward,
Faster, faster, faster.
The still had left me,
Leaving only a frenzied pulse in its wake.
But it was coming back.
To grasp me by the throat,
And strangle the pulse,
A sick satisfaction,
Of removing its enemies, and killing the opposition.
So I could leave in the heat of the beating,
And enter, quite suddenly, the still.
