season in hell

Here in front of the looking glass I stand,

my vulnerability reflected back

on my stinging, weeping eyes.

Behind me, my shadow;

the darkest recesses of my soul

open like a mortal wound.

The life races out of me

as I watch my chest rise

with each breath

and become more and more aware

of the mechanics of my essence.

I long to shed

the mortal reality of this existence

and to journey back

amid the souls

that have come before

and will go after.

Then, and only then,

will I learn the consequences

of my particular bargain,

and I will join the others like me

and we will wait

with breathless anticipation

the arrival of those like us.

 

Cut me now and I will bleed;

cut me then and I will wail

under the burden of truth.

Hate me now and I will despair;

hate me then and I will merely contemplate

the meaning of such incidentals

as emotions.

The cold glass cracks under

the heat of my rage

and I am left in pieces,

broken and battered.

This is our season in hell.

Advertisements

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s