The cessation of my diurnal tapestry , a nocturnal tale of white horse
tragedy .. As we wait for the eight at nine , where shadows
often appear to be alive , hours run pathetically slow , freezing near dead from head to toe . Suckling from the bitter , wicked teet , normal people now **** where I eat .. Old crow nail , purple tip reactive banter from a starving vulture , the wailing of Lucifer , his consumption of the rotten in the shelter I rest my aching head upon .. Putrid bile breath , painstakingly reconnoiter the veins in both legs , stabbing wretched leather , smell of imminent death at the meeting house , night of inopportune visitation from an old chum long since forgotten ...What will I find when the body expires , when my broken heart finally gives in , when my brain sinks to the murky bottom , when the voices stop calling  . Who will I see , to whom will I greet when religion receives its long awaited answer , when the riddles lay restful and solved , when guilt and needle wounds are calmed ...Will life resume once more upon my fragile piece of Earth or will I jettison on a beam of light around the Universe .. Will there be a Jesus or a creature with intelligence I can't even begin to comprehend or will the bulb be switched to off and that's it ?