fallen

The verging apocalyptic night was very familiar. Its black satin sky rhythmically waved with exhaustive sighs. Oxygen siphoned fueled my innate bonfire, and I found myself wanting to succumb. But chance resonated in the Pharaoh's snake of glowing orange embers, and they burned hot in my gut. I steadied my soul and fixated on the soft grey ashes. I fell dancing like rain and I was once again a child.

But with an innate anchoring to an indescribable burden, my spirit eternally dropped. My ready eyes widened into a panoramic orgasm for the unending hell before me. Its comforting darkness perversely swaddled the blank space in my wandering isolation, and it felt like home forthcoming.

(The bartender is pouring for the lonely hearts. He fills their stained glasses with tears and crimson ice floating. One for the rambling new lovers and their hopeless despondency haunting, and one for the House.)

Under the wailing sirens, with their soprano pitch of sadness and unflinching sorrow, my cries are reassured. But the lonesome musician, playing piano for his ghosts, continues to tap for my heartbeat. And in my hollowed chest, his sound echoes my plea for mercy.