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
so true about fear ‘the true torture is not the one you are going through but the fear of the one that comes next’
‘fear is a liar’ also true, is what the light sees
LikeLiked by 1 person
indeed
LikeLike