emancipation of robert sadler

Glass

My Memory has become a glass

Shattered.

Scattered

over the Grass Blades,

Submerged within its depths.

�

As my feet stamp

����������� �� �������������������� Trample

����������� ����������� ����������������������������������� Parade over the leaves

I feel a sensation overtaking my being,

Piercing something within me.

�

The glass lodges itself there nourishing,

consuming.

Pulsating parasitic beings,

they break away

when they tire of their feast.

�

I can not fight it.

I can not remove the glass fragments.

Lively

they throb, sending feelings throughout my body.

Tormenting,

Dominating,

Freezing my blood into a slushy mixture.

�

The blood becomes harder now,

busting my veins.

Stopping my heart.

�

�

When the glass is finished it rejoins the grass

writhing in its depths.

�

Attempting to look at the glass.

�Searching in the grass for its curves and piercing edges,

Proves too demanding.

�

My heart begins to beat again.

�

I can feel the stickiness

that thawing slushy mixture,

the metallic goo that covers my feet.

But as I try to inspect it,

I see naked feet. Nothing more.

�

�

�

I again step on the ground

Slowly,

Cautiously,

No longer stamping,

No longer trampling.

No longer parading.

Meekly. Shuffling.

�

I try to avoid the parasitic glass, try to keep my heart beating.

�

Somehow, I can feel the glass enter my being

again. Enter Again.�Enter. Again. Enter Me again.�

Ent. Er. Me. Again. Me again.

Again Unavoidable,

Inescapable.

�

�I begin to wonder: Perhaps the glass never existed.

�

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