Wiisshhh... The sounds of thin branches as they make small cuts in the soft breeze seem to calm me. The air is slowly heaving, to-and-fro, and I imagine the source of the breath - a picture show in my mind.
My soul travels, eyes still open in the dark, as I see the wind like the rising and falling of a sleeping giant's chest, far off in some distant western land. Beyond the seas the giant is slumbering.
In the northern forests, another magnificent being turns in discomfort to adjust his posture upon the murky black mountains. Wincing, he pushes out a long sigh and the light warmth of the new behemoth's breath crosses my cheeks, smelling of maple leaves and moss.
My skin is dry, my face is worn, and my body is beaten. Like stones dismantled, pulverized dust, my countenance is cold and gray. Broken, only to be washed away by the rains of many winters, and collecting in a deep, earthen hole.
There I sit for summer to dry. I'll surely see the sun. The rays will dry me and the stones that were sludge will become the heavy concrete that is my soul. A rock, alone, at the bottom of a hole.
Briefly, my body resurrects itself to the attention of my mind. My eyes become the windows and I peer out at a dimly lit parking lot. My hands are aware of nothing but a tattered pack of cigarettes, buried in the midst of my pockets full of trash. Somewhere within is the flame.
I shift my weight to one side, my eyes still steady on the lot, my body dressed in black and hidden deep in the shadows. My sight leaves again to the hill across the lot. I now look, disembodied, back at where I sit.
There is only darkness where I lurk before a small flicker makes way to an orange glow. I see my own face, lit in crimson, eyes black and steady as a prowling lion. I know this is what they see. The only thing they see of me.
They can not know my thoughts. They can not know my journey. Their dreams will only see my illuminated face - the predator on the hill - the downtrodden and the desperate - the rejected and the desolate. I am hidden in their dreams, for they push me from their sight, and convince themselves that I was never there, for my existence means that fear is real.
Not because they fear my wrath. No, that answer is too simple. They fear what my existence means. My very presence speaks, "Hell is right here - quietly waiting for you. It's just one step away. Take your time, 'cause when you fall, this will be your price to pay."
As I pull the smoke from my cracked lips, it sticks to my parched mouth, tearing off some flesh I did not have to spare. I smile, through a little blood, at what I know they can not fathom. An unspoken truth is my concrete soul, etched upon the face of time and no man may remove it....
"I am invisible, but I am here."