That Bitch

Thinking lots about the storm, as her five year anniversary approaches. I have been writing about that bitch alot, and sometimes I can still hear the winds raging in my head. Winds screaming through my head like a freight train from a shot of cocaine. Branches scraping the windows and scraping the inside of my skull as the images are flash, flash, flashing back and forth. Memories buried, resurface from those deep recesses of my mind where I tried to hide them. But, they cannot be hidden forever, I tell myself. You have a story to tell. You have a million stories to tell, so let's get crackin'. Yet, still the flood waters are rising again in my mind as I try to take a deep breath. Anxiety is taking over, and I just try to breathe. The images of yesteryear are flashing like a siren again, quickening my breath and making it obvious to the entire world. Flesh wounds can heal much quicker than the wounds of the soul that don't even bleed. Try to breathe, even though those images keep playing like a broken record. Breathe through the pain, they tell you in labor. Fuck that, give me the epidural. It doesn't work that way with this shit, though. I try to record these images as they keep pop, pop, popping up. Transfer pictures into words and horror into something meaningful. Sometimes, I feel like I am drowning in those flood waters.