I feel a mess. Complete disarray in hurricane winds. Vultures circling. The temperature has dropped and the blizzard begins; a curtain of flakes masks the world beyond the porch. We are both agitated whirlwinds, my heartbeat is drowned in the sounds of the wind. Quiet, it strikes me like a blow to the chest. Things begin to fade - the tumult, the pain, the torrid rage swelling and cresting in my ribs - and in their places are only silence.
The storm tells me, be still. It tells me, quiet, now. The frothing mess of me has abated, I am left with the noise of my hollow lungs sucking in. Around me, the winds have died and the storm has softened to a squall.