As he watched the skin slowly peel from the bones,
         he remembered his childhood.
   Memories of scraping his knees
         and being fascinated with the blood
      dripping down his leg.
All the times he carefully burned
         each leg off a spider
     and studied it closely
            as it died painfully.
The first birds squawks
        as he plucked out each feather individually
               then cut it open to see it's lungs
  slowly stop taking breaths.
           Practically in awe.
    But it wasn't enough.
    
Now
     As the man lays,
         barely alive and severely broken,
   on his basement floor,  
      he feels some extreme level of pride
that he's never felt before.

    It's like...
         The more death he can create in the world
    The more alive he can make himself feel.

Tonight, I spoke into the darkness,
No stars to light my way,
       The black void all encompassing

   My words drifting up in ribbons,
          I waited for something, anything to happen

              I felt a rumble that was akin to ripples emanating from a drop of water hitting a puddle

        I was small next to the impossible,
And when it spoke back, it changed me
      
        The blank canvas of stark black was pierced by blades of light,
    The sky becoming a shutter in a rain storm
           Blowing open and closed
       The words came and wrapped themselves across my body in its entirety
        Constricting my air flow

             I felt myself shatter
  An implosion of feeble glass
       Ricocheting through a skeleton of paper, reflecting the brightness above inside ripped skin

                I was nothing.
                I didn't exist.
                I floated in an incomprehensible place that had no end, no walls

     No ceiling or floor

            Just illumination in every direction

                    I opened my eyes
  
    And was blinded by an incredible radiance

      I shut my eyes tight and swatted in front of me
        My hand struck something metal and I yelped in pain
          
          I shot up and stared downward
    Towards the desklamp unplugged on the floor
        
          Breathing heavily, I sat upright in my bed,
                 *Struggling to pull away words that had already sunken in

Strobes of light bounce around you
And the forces keep pulling me in.
Im out of my depth in this moment,
But the forces keep pulling me in.

The mystery compels me forward
And the shadow keeps me away.
Out of the darkness you appeared
To take me to solace once more.

Passion seeps from your words,
And the forces keep pulling me in.
Im scared to let myself go,
But the forces keep pulling me in.

I stop in my tracks,
          Listening

  A hollow clinking in the darkness.
In an alleyway, somewhat familiar,
Vacant and forgotten in the twilight hours
Except for the lingering cigarette smoke
And the scent of frigid, dehumanizing hate

  And a clink
Low and somehow beneath the dense, dank dark

  A sound disillusioning and honed to a fine point, like that of a blade meant to harvest death

  A clink
And another clink

                           There is a man sitting near the end of the alley
                           At the back of the throat of Hell itself
                           He has his head down
                           But through the thick black smudge of night
                           I can still see the base of a brown glass bottle tap the bottom of an upper row of teeth

He stops, and looks up at me with eyes that resemble mine a little too much for my comfort

                                    He brings the bottle down, and lowers his head, gazing at it as if for the first time
                                    Suddenly he snaps his eyes up to mine, instantly staring into the deep void of apathy that looks back.
                                    He smiles a knowing smile, and slams the bottle against his teeth.
  


              It does much more than *clink.