Honeysuckle Breeze

In the last summer breeze,
fresh picked honeysuckle tangles itself
into my hair
and the soft crunch of gravel
under my sneakers controls me.
I crave the sound.
I smile softly
at passing strangers as we all roam
aimlessly.
My steps are as slow and deliberate
as the scent is sweet and enticing.
The sun is warm and bright and
my fingertips brush the leaves
of towering sunflowers
as they bow to kiss the stray hairs
from my forehead.

The wind teases me,
carrying the honeysuckle to me once more.

It’s stronger now.
My steps hasten just a touch.
The sun, it seems to be burning warmer,
the day seems to be growing brighter;
perhaps it’s just me,
as no one seems to notice.
My smile begins to falter
as their lips all begin to curl up.
They look vindictive.
Are the leaves more rough than they were before?

Once more the breeze encircles me,
My heart slams against my ribcage;
that god damned
Honeysuckle.

No longer does it taste of sweet tea
in the Tennessee evening
or even of the sweat that drips
from my upper lip as I pick daisies
from the roadside.
The sun is burning,
I can feel my flesh blistering and
I’m blinded by the light.
All I can smell is that sickeningly saccharine flower
as the sandpaper leaves of the sunflowers
wrap around my wrists and ankles.
Everything is overwhelming
and all I can do is scream.

The wind; the fear; the honeysuckle.

My blood is boiling and I think
I feel my throat begin to fill with it.
Wicked laughter fills my ears
and I’m trying to wrestle my limbs free
and tears spill over swollen cheeks
that have begun to suffuse with sanguine color. Engulfed by the pungent odor, I lash out,
war cries gurgling through the ichor.
As quick as it comes,
all is gone and I stand surrounded
by the mutilated remains of strangers,
expect they aren’t strangers;
again I’ve hurt those I love.

It sneaks up on you.

I’ve let my anger consume me,
overpower me,
like honeysuckle in the breeze.