Kyle Dezse Poetry Extra Credit

Kyle Dezse

Extra Credit

12-3-13

The Calm Before the Storm

It starts out normal. Like any other moment. Until the storm comes

Like a stampede of bulls, I can see it rush towards me, but around me, now, it is the calm.

The calm before the storm is the worst thing imaginable. You can see the horrific mass escalating in size and ready to devoir everything in its path, but you still can’t do anything about it.

I am trying to suck in every last good feeling in the air, but find myself swiping at the empty space in front of me.

It is close now and I can smell thunder amongst the clouds.

The clean but terrifying smell of the electrical charge that is about to strike my nervous system and contract every muscle in my frail body.

The darkness of the clouds looks down on me with its pitch black pupils.

They pierce my soul like knives and absorb the remaining ounces of hope.

 I had hope for security. I had hope for safety from the storm.

Silence takes me now as it enters my mouth. As I salivate profusely, I cannot help but notice the taste of metal.

I have coins in my mouth and the taste on my tongue is unbearable.

I feel cold and sterile.

I am exposed, like an open nerve. Like a carcass lying on a table in an operating room.

I am a naked human, unable to react and helpless to the onslaught to come.

I am an immune system with no antibodies and the deadliest bacteria is about to enter my bloodstream.

The storm hits

After the storm subsides I am not able to function, for my skull is splitting in two like a fault line in the earth crust.

 A constant, and massive drum, pounds violently to the beat of my heart.

 I can hear it inside, deep within me.

 I am taking my palms and pressing them to my ears, as if trying to drown out all other distraction.

 I thrust my fingernails into the back of my head.

Doing anything to make this pain go away, I desperately try to peel the skin from the back of my cranium.

I go into more silence.

Blank and in darkness, I lay alone with my thoughts of nothing.

The storm is what I feel. The storm is my seizure.