Micah Park Biffle

The Shadows We Breed  My skin crawls, shriveling toward my anxious thoughts. My eyes oscillate in attempt to scour the darkness for hope. But there is no light, only the black breath of my falling thoughts. A cloud emerges from the tail of my tongue. I can hear the scurrying of rats in the pitch of darkness as I begin to cower to the corner. Hungry are they, and I a meal for the ages. I curl up in the fetal, shivering like a lonesome child. Afraid, abandoned by the warmth of love. Everything is desecrated, what is left, but to allow devastation and I to be consumed by that which lurks in this unholy of rooms? This dark cloud swarms my throat and I feel nothing but the bitter cold, like the first kiss of winter, after it has conquered the last field of crops; and I, that field. As I quiver in this empty room, I cannot see the shadows that form from my breath. But I can hear them as if they are my own voice, vivid are they. They speak with malice, trickling with lips of l...

Rock Bottom It's a gory scene to be at the bottom, where the rocks settle and the beast sleeps. Few come out alive, the viscous scent of misery spawns with every ripple that passes over. Creatures with eyes of ghostly red peer through the bleakness as they search in feast of the feeble. Searching out malnourished minds and bitter hearts. Pumping deceitful thoughts as the pale skin of the wretched whom have fallen to the beasts scream. Shrieking in agony to strike fear in those who have newly fallen. Creating a toxic echo that corrodes those who carry dense doubt. Worming their tongues in the ears of their victims as the beast gnaws upon their feet. Weakening their balance, creating a limbless critter to emulate its voice. It seeds into the mind of the terrified, blending with the suffering they posses. They cry out but few fight back. They become hollow shells that suffice as a bowl for the beast to place its meal; and with each meal. The beast grows and the victim bec...

A Bitter Mans Reminder I peer my weary head from the stables of my thoughts. Thinking of the mess that I have created within. As I think, I turn my sorrowed eyes toward my window. Looking through it, I see the sunrise gently cresting over the horizon. But all I can see is a smear of colors, oranges, blues, reds and earth tones. Muddley separated like oils to a puddle. I squint my eyes to focus deeper into the present beauty that births itself to this morning. But like myself, my window is stained, unkempt with grim and grease. I feel myself become sightly disdained to my current status. So like any, whom become uncomfortable in themselves. I lean to the opposite side of my bed and pour myself a warm settled glass of bourbon. A slosh of bourbon escapes from my glass as my hands quiver. I grunt, with no desire to clean my accident. I raise the glass to my lips and stare at the still ever existing hues of light. A small smile escapes me, but it is quickly taken by sadness. Be...

Veteran Crisis Line The Scar of War And His Suicide To Escape It  He returned with a heavy heart. With a fierce storm raging in rain, thunder, and dark clouds. Memories of war collided beneath his chest. His lost brothers he could feel in the very bones of his soul. Nothing felt the same in this place he called home. No words could describe the surmountable anguish that tore each second at his mind, creating a vast chasm. Loneliness slowly consumed him. Leaving him branded as a mental case, coming unhinged to reality. Drowning in the constant flavor of hops. Leaving no moment to be sober. Covering the storm with another, that if the fog became to thick to see, then his pain did not exist. Flooded with anxiety of what he left behind in the chaos of war. He could not escape the nagging of all the thoughts he prayed to forget. Tarnished he felt, guilty, burdened, he felt far from a hero. Though each friend, each member of his family embraced him as one. And on each night ...