Fear of Moving Forward
by Elissa Rosenthal
Pulsing eyes feel wet as liquid icicles run down my face,
As cold as my bloods' provider.
Stillness,
A wound-tight clock wishing to turn,
I stay unmoving out of that which provides my chill.
Liquid icicles morph into liquid rust,
As the clockwork coils grind against each other.
Slow movement starts.
The coils creek in anticipation,
Hoping the body follows.
"Go", they say,
"Dare to change your unmoving state."
