The Fever

A silver pelt encompasses the wide, empty sky.
A flash through the nerves, a fever catches us.
Creeping through the veins methodically.
Boiling the blood eagerly.
Filling the heart with the pain of one-thousand martyrs delicately.
As sweat pours, it will leave.
Time heals all.
The breath taken each second becomes relentless hurricanes of doubt to the soul.
Every memory begin their assassination attempts.
Every feeling or emotion begin to dive out of their ducts as their only escape.
The eyes generate clouds of agony as the moment before dawn draws near.
Something within the self forces the mind's attention upwards with no reason, as a single spot from that pelt shoots through its reality.
Dawn is here and the fever begins to let go.
The captives in the heart set free.
The memories halt to let this day be seen.
The day that every affliction has become apart of this entity.
That every night we've ever felt this fever was for something greater then ourselves.
The day after the torturous nights of waiting for your star to flash across the night sky, so you never have to survive the fever again.