the crowing of a rooster woke me

it can’t be dawn yet

but time works different down here

i look through the window and see the skeletal beast staring back at me

the cavern my home lies in is pitch black except for the occasional flood of lava

those are the good days

the hordes of flesh eating locusts not so much

but the lava is quick

the flesh sears off of the bone nearly instantaneously

the pain feels like it lasts for an eternity but in contrast to being eaten alive it is sweet and fast

this morning is not going to be that easy

the rooster is hungry

and likes to hunt

i am alone here except when the occasional demon comes to make sure my every waking moment is filled with horror

the barbed rod in my intestines as he reminds me of my many sins

slowly twisting it before pull them out an inch at a time

recounting my every action that led me to this place

he does voices

their voices

acts out the final conversations in excruciating detail

and i must play along as he rips my guts out and mockingly replays the final moments

those are my least favorite days

the ones where i want a drink to numb the memories

whiskey and a cigar

he knows this

and as i lay in pile of my own worthless intent he lights a cuban and pours a nice tall glass of amber tears

rolls the smoke on his tongue and sips every so slowly

the cloudy haze and solid glass

this is what i replay as the giant skeleton bird begins to peck my liver

the true torture is not the one you are going through but the fear of the one that comes next

in a fog of hatred and agony you know it only gets worse

but somewhere

there has to be light