Make Me Move
The heat envelops my body. It entraps every facet of my being. It slivers through my lips and seeps into every tissue in my body, charring me from the inside out. It makes me act amuck. Hell is seeping through my pores and forcibly directing these limbs to twist and turn in ways unbeknownst to me just seconds ago. My body is unresponsively responding to diverging forces as I suddenly succumb to its inhibitory ignition. I don’t try to stop it. Rather, I can’t help but charge deeper and more daringly into the flames, letting them overwhelm me until I’m numbed dumb.
My eyes slowly blink open. I realize I had just nearly escaped intangible, self-inflicted captivity. I stand up. I walk myself to the counter. I grasp of the half drank bottle. And, with momentary pangs of disappointment and embarrassment coated in the unknown, I turn it upside down. I know those are not the steps my feet are meant to move to the beat of.