Crumbling

My body envelops the dark storm clouds, numbs my tongue, silences my words. My psyche can sense its leaves tremble and closes its door from the draft. There is certainly no lack of emotion, of experience. New York sizzles vibrantly in my field of vision, stories flow through my conscious.

But once the door is shut, it is safest to simply hold your breath and let the nightmare pass. I will wake up, and the words with allow themselves to be assembled on these pages once again.

They have to. What else am I to do?