too much caffiene

small child running away far away from the music playing and the softness of sunday church fading into the past. grey dusty planks wooden floor dirty feet and splinters. muddy tendrils wash the pebbles in the stream of ice. green moss moist and soft cushion. bed of moss. cannot sleep here with the trees and silver slips of moon shining on the grey grasses. curved blade of the moon shines quietly violent in the nothingness the stars struggle against the suffocating deepness of the black clouds. bending in the silver streams cast shadows hide the tears watering the grasses. blackness all my own wraps me warmly stealing breath from the dewy air. blood seeps into the brown trunk reclining its way across the path winding as a thread of earth through the grey coated leaves. curled away from the eyes of the lesser light whose blades of misty brightness lacerate the darkness cloth wrapping tighter around my chest. heaving struggling rasping breath gags on the cold wetness chill on back and neck. stillness settles, stifling the sounds of the struggle within. slowing the steady rhythm of warmpth streaming through the numbing body. drifting away from the grass, the stream, the moonlight...drifting home.