What the Storm Created

The feeling when the taste in your mouth is strong and overpowering your senses. You squint your eyes tightly as the alcohol rushes to your head, changing its chemical composition and making you unsteady. It’s just like a strong dose of psychological shock to your system. How many times a day does psychological shock strike? Last night I woke up three times with every thunderbolt. They shouted until I was awake enough to listen to the sky’s chaotic symphony as its electricity coursed through my veins. Their vibrations shook me awake on all the clouds as they helped my descent from cloud nine groggily, ethereally. Who did we just become last night? I drove back hours past the sunset in shining car beams moving slower or faster than mine. Slightly flooded streets swayed our cars like the ceiba tree that the storm felled last night. A tree full of spirits was not broken in half, but rather uprooted as I stared at my night sky; driving into a parallel universe where a piece of me still existed. I’m sure that we must have all crashed because the ambulances always show up at the most surreal moments and I think that I crumble up the sheets of time and space as I psychologically warp myself into new shapes and memories for this new world. The dark, honey redness of this sweet wine brings forth memories from the dark outside. I’m sitting here thinking of friends thousands of miles away and memories billions of seconds away swim towards my neck clutching at my windpipes as I attempt regular breathing patterns. These memories disguise themselves as school of fish in the ocean at night where you can’t see anything unless illuminated by the moon. It all feels more sinister when the moon looks so close to my forehead, as if the claustrophobia didn’t hit hard enough underneath the sunshine. These droplets of water freshen my face as I foolishly look for stars in the cloudy night sky. My feelings are ships lost at sea and when they miraculously return, a faithful longshoreman tethers them so they can’t stumble upon the reef. Last night I dreamt a recurring dream, but this time the ferry taking me from faux Manhattan to Staten Island was completely out of order. The last time we were dealing with stormy weather as we boarded and last night we were in the eye of the storm after all the surrounding damage ran its course. Taste the aftertaste of honey on your lips as your body squirms of psychological shock. Who did we just become last night?

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