Thick sweat-damp heated words, every phrase slipping out slick and dark, giving birth to emotions I refuse to touch, to hold, pushing them out and away.

...don't question her...

I find myself shifting, turning, my hips and shoulders and the curve of my spine constantly in motion, looking for more sensation. Swallow. Stretch. Fingernails raking over my own skin, catching at half-healed wounds, ripping away the protective layers, only finding peace when my shirt is soaked with blood.

Sandstorm.

Here's where I spiral off, embarking for points unknown. Maps, chart my course, forget all of that. It's just a road today, just a journey, and the thrill is in the going, not the getting there. Wandering dream-heavy and twisted, my throat burns and my eyes are wide, dark, seared pits in a hungry face.

Play it louder, play it stronger, let me keep going... music, movement, and I steal another breath, another, just one more. Hard to keep time. Hard to match the furious pace of my thoughts and the sounds that pour over me. Even my heartbeat seems too loud today.