The Wishing Well ~ For One Shot Wednesday

This has been a pretty rough week for writing...but I've been doing it! Most, way too personal to share as I make efforts to get the new house and a fresh start all in order.  A few months down the road, when I look back to these writes and laugh, then maybe I will be confident enough to share them, but until then, I'll keep to more imaginative efforts.  So, for this week's One Shot Wednesday over at One Stop Poetry, I present to you...

The Wishing Well

It's dark in here...

So dark, these eyes have no hope of adjusting.

No sudden breaks in the black,

No secret streams of sunshine

To awaken the shadows to dance.

There will be no tricks played upon these eyes.

It's damp in here...

So damp this skin has been roughened with constant goosebumps.

Surely blue, if it could be seen.

A constant drip, echoes off the cold walls

So cold they could be stone,

With its ancient map of cracked and slimy grooves

Tricking my numb fingers

As my brain pushes itself to make sense of this imprisonment

Wall to wall, I walk in darkness

No more than ten or twelve feet

Is my best blind man's guess.

My feet are bare, cold, numb like my fingers

I can smell the pools of stagnant liquid

Before they swell up and over my toes

Thick and slimy, like the walls.

In the blackness, the aches and pains are my body

In the darkness, I can see no wound to place the blame upon

And with no light to decipher its source, it still remains pain

At the back of my neck there is something

Blood, mud, something,

Dried, caked and itching

Touched but once, for fear of what the scraping and scratching might reveal

All is silent, save for the drip

The constant, numbing, drip

Echoes, growing louder in a mind pushed too far.

Cold, childlike fists, balled in rage, pushing hard against closed eyelids

And there is relief, sudden, in the bursts of running color.

But there is pain there too.

Voice, parched, dry, quenched now

As dehydration comes quicker with each pristine tear

No memory, no escape,

Is this to be my fate?

My ears are alive with fire, burning as senses become assaulted

Drowning in the chalkboard sound

Stone against stone

And a waxing slip of light appears above me

Growing larger, eyes now too burning

Fighting to adjust...blinded in the purity of white fire

Illuminating my cell, my jail, my cage

And then...a silhouette

Broad shoulders, a head, perhaps misshapen

And it blocks the light

Extinguishes the fire

And once again

I fall back to darkness.