Written by James Christopher Sheppard
The state is hard to describe,
not quite an emotion, but a physical reaction concentrated from somewhere inside.
It swirls around in your middle, tearing through your stomach like a tornado. And it builds,
growing stronger as it spins.
Your wind pipe reduces in diameter and breath becomes less natural. You have to think about breathing now.
You breathe slowly and try to regain control. It’s YOUR body.
And while the tornado may slow,
your head begins to fill with heavy hazy clouds.
‘Don’t bottle it up’ you’re told. ‘You’ll feel better’. But it’s all just words.
The scattering of words leaving my mouth and congealing
in a way that brings nothing new. Words swallowed by others and re-spun.
Just for you.
Is this when we drink then?
To deaden our tormented insides?
To drown the tornado and dispel the clouds?
Or could this be where we use a blade
to slice through our skin and
let the demons that are trapped within us out?
This state visits me everyday and I am running down a narrowing blacked out corridor,
but I am tired.
I no longer know what I am running towards
or why I am running at all.