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 cum-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.