Thoughts Of Flight

For months at a time my words are precious and brilliant, effervescent gold on rare days and burning steadily bronze through the light of my eyes.
Then I will stumble, I will fall.
I will hit the ground with such force that I will not get back up.
Everything turns inky, spidery black. Satin and smoke and sinister all at once, pouring out, line after line after line.
Long grey fingers with impossible joints spreading over my mouth, my heart, the back of my skull.
Pushing me, pushing until I have no words at all.