Hostile

Her slight eye glancing at me, ready,
My feet in thin brown boots,
Slide fluently into their rusty position
Across the reflective wood beneath us,
She takes her stance with silence
The wind killing all sprouts of new conversation

My fingers slide over my soft, gold streaked hair
The very touch of the sleak blade,
My hand jumps back
The feeling of burning white fire coursing through my fingertips
Hidden by the shadows of my concern
And the black coals of regret filling the air
My twinge of doubt streaks across my face
The tinges of feeling sliding out,
Into the world forming the thick grey cloud
Silhouetting my body

I tug at my free hand the feeling of a million tons at my side lifting
I force the thought away once more,
Clenching my fist into the pain of needles in flesh
Letting my eyelids close,
I fear that tears of lost pain will come
My focus on the new enhanced ones
The fire in my fingers inflates as I reach,
Sliding the blade from my back

I take a cool deep breath,
The cloud pulsing with me
I rush toward her feeling the cold wind at my cheeks
The quiet birds chirping
The green grass blowing
The soft beauty
The intense pain

With each slash of searing pain that comes with my wield
The damp clouds follow,
Leaving only the devoured corps of my will
Consuming all known
Consuming all beauty
Only letting me pass without forgiveness,
Hostile