As the panic rises as rapidly as the drumming of my pulse, I pause just for a moment "shall I call Him?"
Him, the one I try so softly to unlock,
As if he is a secret and I am the seeker of the truths that lie within this strange, labyrinth of a mind I am so close to solving.
I call, he doesn't answer, then the words 'I'm in the middle of a game' rain down on me like hail, pricking at my skin like icy needles.
The salty bitterness of tears mocking me, revelling in this futile cry for help, this pathetic attempt at connection.
As if his mind could ever meet me in this muddy reality I so desperately want to be free from.
As if he could understand how it feels to be drowning in the clouded water of my own future, whilst still being burned by the glaring light of my past.
He cannot,
He will not,
But She will.
©newtothis
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