Friday, April 1, 2016

waiting for the show




















the sun beats down
at 102 degrees, as you
silently wait for
the show to begin,
it is always like this,
a pause,
a cost,
a loss;
there is no other way;
the knife cuts deep,
you seek a finish,
a final place of rest as
it comes upon you cold
and wet,
rushing and wild,
strangely familiar;
empty and final;
there are things bigger
than fear or lust,
bigger than insecurities
or satisfaction,
places where the night
gathers once more,
and it is never what it seems,
never what is expected,
licking every last drop,
leaving nothing behind,
raging like a beast
with no hope for tomorrow,
purging every second
for all it is worth,
ripping flesh into
mountainous shreds,
scattering forgotten remains
upon the blowing wind,
howling until the morning
dawn;
a place which no one can see,
a land that no one can understand.
.

.

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