the unusual effect of a dusty white pillow pressing down upon a face

I can feel it coming
that long buried rage
that rises up to wash away my sanity
my fingers twitching to reach out
and enclose themselves around an unsuspecting throat

I remember when she wrapped her hands around my throat
as I was falling asleep when I was eleven years old
my panic quickly muffled by a pillow pressed against my face
and I fought to breath

I think about what it would be like to press my fingers against a windpipe
and see the terror in those bulging eyes
a silent begging for me to stop
as I leave my mark in bruises along that delicate curvature of anatomy
 
Everything trembled and even the darkness wavered as the seconds
screamed an eternity against the weight looming over me
my own screams unheard as my childish fists connected with air
unable to blot out the sound of her laughter above

I retched in hard bursts of air as she tired of her impromptu game
returning my privilege to breath
and I could only stare in wide eyed trembles
at her oblivious face
too aware of my powerlessness and how dark death looked
from the underside of a dusty pillow

I wonder how it would feel to take it back
to slam her against a wall and take away all her power
restricting the air from her starving lungs
as panic beats through her veins
and I don’t know if I could
I don’t know if I would

Though I can feel it coming
that long buried rage
that rises up to wash away my sanity
my fingers twitching to reach out
and enclose themselves around an unsuspecting throat

I never had the courage to hang

© Indie Adams 2012