Stormy Conscious

I run my fingers around my temples. The holy ground that sits between my ears. The palace has been regarded highly in years past, yet I was to be killed within it. It only made sense that I was nailed to my temple, for I am the leader of the cult of my mind. The dictator to thoughts. Nailed high and thorough. I claw at the nails to push my stubby fingers deep into my flesh. Let the pools of blood cover my hands and I will get under the metal. Pull them hard and slow. Ease the pain out from under my head. Finger the fleshy pools raw; wiggle the nails to push back the flesh. How long has my vision been corrupted? I can’t remember. What I would give to be able to see again. I want to go to my knees and go to my temple so I can pray for it, but my temple is broken and bloodied and fingered. Unholy hands have broken the seal and let the blood hit the ground like the rain on the windows. Take the nails out and hit the ground like thunder. Palms to my temples and everything is lightning.