Treasure Island

Matt Ullman

(9-22-1971 / Chicago)

The Crux

They beg me to go.
I shake my head vehemently.
They beckon once more.
I tell them I cannot.
I cuss,
I stomp my feet,
I shake my fist
at the air.
I whisper,
why do you persist?

I turn the doorknob
ever so slowly.
I jump back
and strike my face.
I cover my ears
with cold hands.
I close my eyes.
Listening again
and looking again
takes me nowhere.
they are screaming
for me now.

I open the door
and the blue silence
envelopes me.
The darkness takes me
as a newborn would its mother.
Soft needles
press beneath my skin.
My hair collapses.
My spirit corrupts.
I sweat,
and the sweat forms
a puddle at my feet.
My heart drops.
My soul becomes like ash.

Submitted: Monday, December 11, 2006
Edited: Wednesday, December 08, 2010

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