338

Burial plans penned
in room 338
Suffocation under failing facade
Nothing to salvage
Leave not a trace
Save the sensation that someone
At sometime
Spent an evening wondering
What the fuck went wrong

And darkness crept in quietly
In various states of undress
In that spatial spill of ink I stumble
Over and over myself
Serene in resignation
That this is the way
Time and space are subjugated
To wilt and wither and waste

Everywhere you look there are corners
Bends and odd angles
Buckled and bowed

Best intentions
Miscalculations

So egregious,
So atrociously executed,
No priest or poison
Could fully absolve such aberration

The sky is pallid death
During the solitary hours of earth
I woke on the floor
Chased the contents of the bedside ashtray
With warm beer
Conscious of how blissfully alive
I and
everything
remained