Cold and windy, the night sky bleeds
Lamplight reflects warm on scabbing concrete
Cigarette feels small in clammy hands
As I stand in the midst of the end
I notice only what I cannot ignore
I ignore that which is blinding
And in the end, find nothing
Newspaper reads of war, and famine
These things do not concern me
My famine is ending
My war beginning

She knew the whole time
What I took for recognition
Was
But was not
She did not recognize my smile
Not my familiar embrace
Nor temperance
She understood only their passing
In the shade of a cool, fall evening
Someone I mistook for friend
Returned my smile and left
Nothing less than her presence spoke
But it must have been a whisper
One that broke upon the dash
Through the window and beyond
Lost and gone
Scaterring forever in the distance of memory

Fear breathes like rabid dog
Hair stands at thought of approach
Modern oblivion reads like cult classic
Each word bolder than the last
We glance, but do not read
Skimming our way toward annihilation
Everyone has an answer
But no one understood the question
Must read further
Must continue to be ignored
Until my screams penetrate
Like so many teeth in your throat
Maybe then
As death takes us
We will finally embrace
The truth so plain
And laugh at the hell we willingly birth

"May I ask you a question?" There was no reply
The hinges had squeaked as I pushed the door wide
And inside sat a woman, with rocking chair worn
Alone, so she seemed, once inside of her door
"The door was unlocked so I let myself in."
Again, no reply, though I did see her grin
"We've been waiting," she spoke as she started to rock,
"it's terribly rude to come in and not knock."
"Forgive me," I mocked, "but the storm forced my hand.
I've been traveling you see, in this oft awkward land.
The rain came on quickly, my horses need rest.
I spoke of a question, the question is this..."
But the old lady smiled as she held out her palm,
"Calm yourself child, you've been out for too long.
You would ask for a night in this house you have found?
Understandably so, for we're miles from town."
"Thank you," I smiled, "for the one night I ask.
I'll take leave in the morn and be off to my task."
"Your task," she said, frowning, "has only begun.
This is more than a house you have stumbled upon.
This is Hell, just for you! I can see you're confused.
But you needn't be scared, for you've nothing to lose.
See, you died in the storm though you think you did not.
And it's my purpose now to be sure that you rot."
As the old woman spoke, I felt sure of her words
As if what she said had been practiced, rehearsed
"How am I dead if we both see I'm here?"
Then she told me, "I'm dead, if that helps still your fear."
So I started to laugh (she was obviously crazed),
"There is no way in hell this is true, what you say!"
"But it is and I'll show you; your doubts will be curbed.
This IS your hell John, and it's one you deserve."
A change came upon her, though hard to describe
And instead of one being, I was looking at five
In each of their eyes were reflections the same
I was looking at dead men and I was to blame
I remembered no guilt, I had felt no remorse
When a bullet had silenced them each in due course
When I reached for my pistol but found I had none
I realized that each of them still had a gun
They loaded them slowly while chanting in time,
"You took each their life and you'll pay for your crime."
In my horror I ran though I found not the door
Five explosions rang out and I fell to the floor
As I drew my last breath, I could swear I felt rain
As if I were outside, in absence of pain
But I was and I had been; the rain in my boots
If not for the horses was certainly proof
In the distance a house where we might get some rest
Though it's miles from town and decrepit, at best
As I closed on the house where it seemed I had been
I ignored the nostalgia and let myself in.

The man began to rise, his jacket full of holes
Noting nothing, he misses his surroundings
The poor light, the smell, his own home
He falls back, too weak to support himself
Blinking should wash the past
It used to help
The alcohol seems more a baptism, these days
Than the tears before
Before the light winks out
And he closes his eyes
Something rattles, all too closely

I cannot ask for this
This thing
This bliss
I do not
DO NOT
Deserve it
This is
Without a doubt
Bound to me
Free from sound
Of light and wound
Tight
Change in me
The mights to wills
And still
I find night
Pressed
Against my breast
Expressed within
And beyond
Text

My mind (like many) rambles on
And as such, thoughts abound
It quickens, loses, supplicates
That I might write them down
But they are lost (like many gone)
And this much earns renown
Where once they were, I now debate
They ever were around.