If my fate is to love you
From a distance
Then I'll burn for you
Like a star in your night sky
Bright, steady, reliable
Unwavering
Until the end of time.

"It's not that it was the worst
but it was very bad," the old
man said.
"I wasn't hanging but the noose
was so thick around my frail neck.
I was nine. And the
forest was
dark.
Night.
And holding me, they made my
old man dig a deep hole.
He did as they said
to buy my freedom.
They untied me then and
put the rope around my old man's
arms and legs
and threw him in the hole
and covered him up with dirt.
They didn't make me watch.
But I did.
I wanted to photograph their
faces with my eyes
to burn their smirks under my eyelids.
Well, the saddest thing about it all is
that they died, all of them were
caught and condemned to death
before I was old enough or strong
enough to hunt down and
**** them myself.
The greatest regret of my life.
The world, you see, has no true justice
It never had.
You see, young man, that's why I
can never be a child of God.
He wants us all to forgive.
I can't.
Don't want.
Will not.
Ever.
So instead of going to church
I pass out in bars like this one
It's been my favorite lately
And you're my only friend, young man.
You're the only one weird enough to
listen to this old, demented fool's stories."

"I'll always listen,"
I said.
"Here, how about another drink?"

"Another drink, sure. Thanks.
But I'm afraid you won't be
listening to these stories for long.
I'm going away, young man."

"Where?"

"Well, to court first
and then
definitely
to jail."

"To jail at your age?
What did you do?"

The old man smiled a toothless
smile. "Old as I am, I used to have
front teeth, you know? Well, the
reason I no longer have them...
I bit a child's ear off.
It was his face.
It reminded me of them. Belonged to the
same race. So I figured... you know,
maybe he was one of their descendants.
It was the least I could do. All
I could do...
I told you I'm crazy. I told
everyone."

"Yep, but I'm listening. I'm a
writer..."

"Really?"

"No, but I try to be. Want to."

"Heh, guess we're both crazy
after all. Cheers."

he downs the second bottle
of wine
and then curses the
beer for not
tasting as good

the rectangular desk before
him looks round
now
and his chair grows wheels

all the insects in the
apartment
crawl under the
clock on the wall
and spin the hands
backwards

lots of things are happening
but the
story before him doesn't
write itself
The paper is still pale
the pen
still frozen
The next word will never come
out
let alone the next line

He leans back
and the demon calls from
the other side of the window
and tells him
to hurry up

"That's not how
writing works," he whispers back

But he doesn't
know how
it works anymore

So he just stands
and walks to
the window
opens it
and answers
the call

4779 digital pages filled
with ramblings
about feelings

thousands of
grammar and
spelling mistakes

a broken heart
consuming itself

a final ‘goodbye’ that came
out of a lover’s mouth long ago
still echoing in the ears

a stadium-load of cockroaches
and rats partying
in the house

a mailbox chocking
on unpaid bills

her room a mass grave
of empty bottles
snowed with ash

no income

electricity about to
be cut off

and she’s still
writing