Whisper

It comes in quietly, sneaking in inch by inch by mile. On soft-clad feet it steals in, silently, so silently. It's smooth, the way it insunuates itself, taking over from the inside out, taking over piece by piece by tiny little piece. So when you are overcome you don't realize that you are conquered. But you are, wholly and completely. You no longer belong to yourself. You belong to the whisper. And it flies you up, up, up past pleasure and crashes you down, down, down below pain. Just to bring you up again, higher this time, higher, so high...and then it lets you go. So you fall, you fall into the screaming silence, the blinding darkness. You fall until pain is so far above you that you'd die to reach it, even pain. You'd die anyway, anything but this, anything but these depths, and death is at least somthing different. You're tearing at your clothes, at your skin, at your heart, trying to erradicate the whisper that's already left you falling. So here you are, on your knees, bleeding, your wounded heart in your hands.
Here you are, after the whisper.
Laters