3am, the epitome of perpetual night. The hour of the wolf in sheep’s clothing Alabaster clocks, ebony needles for hands Walking to one-second beats on dripping wall paper, exposing the blood in the house and meat in the pipes.
I see shadows of the malevolent past: Rings of smoke and ***-stained magazines Lies woven into eyelashes, sealing them shut Bleak figures made of shattered glass Transparency, their only truth.
And dawn shows the new day A stage of light like sweet Arcadia The pages written for me to walk upon Every hour summarizes a year’s worth of turmoil, an abstract of vicious malcontent youth.
Standing against usurpers and cattle-branding parents I will not allow the false punishments to continue Nor the raging strangulation subjugate my woe Sweating fingers penetrate the holes All while pleasure and pain in endured.
As the sundial strikes noon, life meets the middle Leaves falling off trees while amidst the winter Hands tired and dry; legs crooked and frail I will wipe the dust of my friends away from me Like nothing and everything in between.
The tomorrow won’t come this time The prelude to eternity will be a last gasp of air And I’ll welcome the suffocation like a lost brother And abhor the condemnations like a pious father And I’ll think fondly of that fading mother As the light of day segues to a haze of fire I’ll take those reluctant steps that I must Ravel my life’s threads into a warm coat And I will meet you at that cold and violent dusk.