Creating Peace From the Pieces

Sometimes, there is just pain. Pain like tendrils of an ivy vine, it’s appendages creeping over and around each of my muscles. It grasps me in my sleep, waking me and placing my body in a sort of stasis, gripping my lungs. After awhile, I try to move my mouth and realize I’ve been clenching my jaw in anticipital hope for release from my bonds. My only means of escape is with distraction, so I write. I write my frustrations until I can’t express them anymore. I write and I feel the tension flow away from me and onto paper. Then I find an audiobook read by a narrator who owns a voice so smooth as to sooth my mind away from torture, and like a cloth full of chloroform, smother my consciousness and alleviate my presence.