I scuffed along a dreary trail;
Lit by the orb of night.
A muted glow, grew 'neath the haze
Of fog disrupted light.

A pathway hemmed by fir and ash.
Its' silence taunts the nerves.
Your outline there, amid the trees,
My mind thought it observed.

I stalled, 'neath creaking wooden limbs,
Froze still and calm, I gazed.
It was your frame, your gait, your hair
There, ambling in the haze.

I felt you turn your face t'ward mine;
Racing heart, now in repose.
I drew in deep, your silent tale
Of why this path you chose.

I held your story in my chest
'till fog and dark did cease.
'till wary eyed, I woke and smiled
To know you're now at peace.

Behind locked doors the Gamblers dare
to cast our fates without a care.  
Like puppeteers they pull our strings
and use us as a child’s playthings.  

Upon the tables of the gods,
with wagers cast at any odds,
they stand us up in serried rows,
then knock us down like dominoes.

gazing in rapture, I am forever
caught between the frequencies;
one of dissolution,
one of incoherence,
strung across a common dissonance.

detached, I drip through
conflicting perceptions,
eternally bound in amber,
I am desensitized;
once by anesthetics,
infinitely by static,
endlessly apologetic.

when Uncomfortable comes,
he crawls in through my mouth
and makes a home on my tongue.
his breath stains my numb teeth
and burns the back of my throat.

when Uncomfortable asks me
to stay a little longer,
with his frail hands over mine,
there is only humming and I am
back in front of the tv, watching static.

when Uncomfortable stands
with his arms out, in the shape of a cross,
there is only smoke filling everything
as I bow my head and pray
to wake up free.