Near miss

Cracking, a hum, too close to ignore. Light fully endowed by the cramped waiting room, the walls have no marks but can be felt with a curious toe or tongue.

A rythmic tock of an old grandfather clock, a tick tapped from a snowy window and tart taste to the air, blood or hair?

The brittle ceramic coated in paper, cracks and shears in the cold summer breeze, careful prods and curious chatters leave you broken and battered, holding on to smear of time with a lovers lisp trying to talk but withheld it becomes a wisp one second too late. Maybe now your lucky foot will give your pain its grief.

"Open your eyes."

Nothing, I know this feeling well.

"Your thoughts are blind." The vibration guffaws, its seedling jovial, swell but cold and not one to tell.

"I know your house, your home and your phone, all are empty and you unknown. You think you're blind but I tell you're well and your face is a mess, too focused, your thoughts hop and scream in silence it seems. Many have come before, many made you sore but by God were they a bore; blank and broken their lips were sealed by their past misdeeds which you have now healed." In sarcasm the seams come away, now chartreuse in colour and relaxed, the spirit decays.

Not a dark room, still sitting in doom, the world alight once more, hope - a feeling your heart now allure; with feelings and passion you see a face engaging with yours, in an unknown embrace, how come? Wait. Endure.