The Twenty-Sixth

Send me distraction, send me work, for in my mind a terror lurks; an image, a thought, a picture with sounds, a horrid display that I don't want around; a rupture of pain, a cyst on the brain, a pitch fork, a cleaver, a fierce roaring flame; a struggle, a war, being waged in my mind, and the treaty, the papers, left buried to find among mountains of work and hilltops of stress, and miles to muddle through of unyielding mess; a journey I'll take, and one which I'll run, without looking back, but without having fun. And when I eclipse the moon at my back, and squint to the sun amidst an unending attack, I'll ask why it happened, ask why I must; my jaw will lay slackened and my skin caked with dust, and tears in my eyes and blood on my skin, and a bruise on my brain which hemorrhaged from within. From those questions will rise a most simple reply, one for which pain will soon justify; a smile, a look, a touch, a smell; a love that would make it worth going through Hell. And then, only then, will this upcoming day be worth all my strife and worth making me prey. I'll do what I must, I'll live how I should, and I'll smile in faces of the cussed and the good, and I'll say "you're welcome" as they say "you had to", and I'll respond simply and falsely "I'm glad to". And they'll go on laughing, recalling that day as the day they relived all they thought they had missed, and I'll sit there sobbing with my lack of bliss; my knees to my chin and my eyes to the floor and my back pressed up tightly to the solid oak door, attempting to block all the words and the thoughts of a day which crept up and wrapped me in knots. And all will be well in this world for while, and I'll keep on trucking with a quivering smile, cuz I know that I won't, I can't understand, why my mind makes me sad and then clutches my hand and drags me through trenches and tugs me through barbs and strikes me with paddles tipped with tiny glass shards, and why it is that my thoughts are so wrong, so far from my heart, as they've been for so long, and why it is I feel pain as I do for picturing something that's not even true, and why, if my heart knows I did the right thing, my mind is still writhing and tugging at strings, moving my moods and crippling my spine, and moving away from my heart so divine. So heart, my dear friend, if you're still inside, hold on, fight strong, and soon you'll reside in a place free of this torment and woe that's been tracking us now for six months or so, and just let the mind do what it will and we'll be together after it's had its fill, and we'll be all set and things will be great and then Love will come back and remind us of fate, and how all the things the mind made us feel meant nothing at all for nothing was real, and we'll be quite happy with tomorrow then passed and we'll never look back, fearing stones cast will hurtle through eyelids and pummel through veins and resurface as shambles and bring back the pains, and we'll just ignore all the pictures and sounds that shouldn't be near and shouldn't be 'round, and we'll live our life, my heart and myself, with tomorrow locked tight in a box on a shelf, and ne'er shall we open that box wrapped in chains for fear of the terror and fear of those pains, and tomorrow will be as a hole in a page of the history books that chronicle age, and never again will it be brought up, and joy will run free for the twenty-sixth is locked up.

YUP!!

If the plane goes down...then what happens next?