Asphyxiation

Rough, calloused hands protrude from infinite obscurity.
They are not weak, nor gentle,
They are experienced;
Forthcoming with an intent backed by sheer, merciless determination.
To kill.

But I know not of intent, only fear.
My eyes dart in frenetic desperation,
Searching for an escape.
I see none.

Submissive to panic,
Convulsions take dominance.
The hands steadily approach,
While paralyzed I wait.
The prey,
Breathing at an uneven, ragged syncopation.


The hands lunge, taking hold of my throat.
Smothering. Suffocating. Strangling.
Constricting. Choking.
Killing.

Breath lessens and fades, as the mind's boundaries.
Eyesight blurs with slowing time.
I am floating
At the dividing precinct.
Should I struggle? Is it of worth?

Suppressing the urge to succumb,
I cough. Sputter. Gasp.

Dissatisfaction overtakes the hands.
Releasing their viced grip,
They shrink back into reclusion.


I collapse.
The hands were but a fabrication,
And I,
The true enemy.