It stings like bitter memories
It aches like a smack on your cheek
It brings tears to your eyes that
Quickly run away with the wind
It whips through your hair
Yet unlike tears, hair is firmly anchored
A slicing wind tastes like a knife
Bitter, dry, and cold
You can neither swallow nor spit it out
It acts as though it as nothing better to do
Then to bruise
To batter
To cut your body
I close my eyes and release
My spirit floats on the back of the wind
Like a restless soldier in want of a fight
I am not the only one to let go
We are a mob
An army
A bloody cloud of soldiers
We fly like a swarm
A swarm of knives
With our spirit come our memories
Bitter, cold, and stinging
Reach out and feel it pass
For as soon as it comes
It goes
For just like bitter memories and stinging slaps
It passes yet lingers on
It passes but moves on to others
Watch them send chills down spines
Watch them sway trees
They show little resistance
With a shudder I give a start
I shiver
I close the door
Leaving the mob
Shutting the soldiers outside
I am stronger