Rushing lapse in The Wanderer

Grasping upon two heavy bundles of rope. I feel the harsh threads puncture my hands; pain then numbness. White knuckles ready to crack and bleed out. I am overwhelmed by the anxiety caused from all the anger, all the resentment. I feel the all too familiar sting form inside of my chest. A giant bubble of fire and my eyes go blank.
The words were formed, then spewed out. Soaked up, then slowly drained from each pore. Time passed in its usual form, only I knew I had to gather strength again. I asked for kind words from fellow supporters. I soaked them up. Then let them linger, before breathing out a response.
The fire had died down. I watched the embers dim, wondering if a spark would flare and it would build up again. I wasn’t holding much this time, and the feeling I felt from swallowing glass was gone. A few coughs lingered, but I was back to normal for the most part.
The road looks paved, but I am not afraid to go barefoot through rocks and sludge. The wilderness intrigues me and has always been alongside me. I can go one direction, or another and I know it isn’t black nor white. The blurred edges create so many different colors and each one is just fine. In the end I will still breathe the same air; I just might smile a little less or a little more.