and roused from the back of my mind was
a warm breath of childlike wonder, present
in the twinkling of my eyes
that he called "unmissable," like it was the reason he drew toward me
with a blade called fate to my neck
and promised me escape, finally, since nobody else would.
but he spoke in shimmering riddles, tongue dipped in a persuasive agent.
he did not miss his clarity. he did not miss much anymore.
by his hand, and with God as his witness, he would keep any of that nonsense
far from the equation. he would kill that which once made him feel alive.
walled away somewhere deep inside of him, behind visible ribs and invisible slate
i observed a faraway macabre, and it did not deter me, and it did not want to.
i took his hand, which was good, since mine still trembled.
i let him pull me into the same rank pit
he had occupied for some time now. drawn, quartered.
the skin around his eyes crusting, blackening, oculars submerged in pale.
through needles were salvation; he fully intended to alter pace
and allow himself, for once, something of his doing.
solace, if not brief solace, from wretchedness.
a scarce commodity.
nothing can shine down here.
and i'm surviving on what kills me.