i have never
been big
on possessions
except
the demonic type
they enter
my willing vessel
as i toss and turn
through the night
bereft of peace
left
to the insidious thoughts
the ceaseless pain
the loneliness
of a queen mattress
with only
a fool
to occupy the expanses
of wasted time
so the brimstone
keeps me company
the sigils
flare to life
across the blemished skin
of scarred
of scared
of sacred
hoping to add pillows
until they eventually
collapse
burying
the turgid longing
in these brief respites
of giving in
to the voices
that occupy the shadows
the photo negative
of a life
well lived
of a night
well rested
of dream
well envisioned