Immobility

The Scream by Edvard Munch

I open my mouth to scream.

Nothing comes out.

My chords vibrate but a hard truth doesn't move.

The rusted nails hold steadfast.

Quicksand isn't so fast and horror is meant to last.

Tomorrows page stuck to today.

So I pray.

Every day.

In every way.

Relentlessly.

From that place where the air is thin.

And futures grim.

Damn Satan.

God damn him ...

... as my repugnance mimes a most unholy hymn ...