heres a thingy i wrote... check it out.

The Matador

I'm falling apart,
but my pieces don't simply fall to the ground.
They take flight,
into a dissonant night,
full of headspun characters,
lights, sounds, and shadows that fade away,
and then reappear translucent in the sky.
And yet I'm still falling.
Pointing to the fact that the worst is yet to come.

The "worst" has arrived.
A voice,
or rather the echo of voices,
reminding me that the portrait on the wall is you,
and it's paint is cracking.
It's colour is weakened,
and it hangs crooked over the mantle.

I see a face.
A hallucination?
I jot the face down in my memory.
Something I realize I will later regret.
But the voice does not belong to the face.
This face doesn't speak.
It has no mouth.
But I can sense it's thoughts,
possibly through it's eyes.
It's thoughts hint at hatred.
Hatred and humiliation.

The voice now content in repeating a single word,
sounding more like a chant.
"Faena... faena... faena"
A word I've never heard before,
but somehow know exactly what it means.

My focus turns back to the face.
Something is now protruding out of where it's mouth should be.
Breaking through,
as if it had been lying in wait for my arrival.
Flattery fails me.
It becomes obvious to me now.
This object is a sword.
I am the bull.
You are my matador.
My time has come.
Which leaves one question...

How long have I been out?