The salty taste of tears running down my face and hitting my mouth, matting my hair like an infant who has cried in a summer’s heat far too long, begging for a drink, or love, or maybe both.
The red dripping vibrant and real, like it isn’t a memory of years past, the pungent smell of blood filling my nose, its’ taste fresh on my tongue as I urge it to slow, to stop.
Feelings I don’t want to feel swelling deep within me, pushing the acidic taste of an empty stomach to the back of my throat and I look up to God and I beg Him “why?”
Why am I forced to suffer, to live in pain, I handed my life to Him and I still feel the blistery burn of the flame and the rancid smell of death fresh in my mind. I feel clueless to reality and don’t understand their kind.
I don’t know what to say or do or not do. None of it feels right.
I feel like I am back in that place, under their command. Waiting to find out if I will live or die and at who’s hand.