Purpose; Isabelle M. Taylor

Isabelle M. Taylor

“Purpose”

Warmth. Breath after breath fills silence. A tea kettle grumbles, like an old man on a bus waiting for his stop. A radiator clicks and hisses its sweet song, melting ice, in cold, cold places. Tissue-like smoke curls around invisible fingers of sunlight. Anger continues, all the while adumbrating fear. Nostrils seethe as they burn with each inhalation. An interlude from thought. Muscles tense as they hold on to imaginary objects. The mind keeps shaking the bars of its invisible cage. Telescoping through a lifetime, as it tries to escape by ruminating on pain and creating self.