mercurial

Last night the hammers of neglect beat down hard on the frame and the ghost, body and brain racked by bad blood and infernal inklings. I didn’t sleep, but that was hardly the worst of it. The  lack of medicine is catching up with me, barely perceivable incremental losses have added up in quantities past counting, the damaged flesh falling hard into disarray. The madness is hitting harder too, leading to this mausoleum mind and horror show heart. The temple, long haunted, at last burning down.

Another day under the belt, already on the edge of the high harrow, the whittle stick moon all but lost above the ruckus and the clamber. The ache still hard upon me and this incendiary feel a fiery fist behind my eyes, I perform the standard issue ablutions, the magic of habit all the context left in play. I brush my teeth before the grim mirror. The pale rider revealed beneath the broken seal, then rinse and spit. Bible stories stuck between my teeth with only floss and physics handy. 

I drag my shadow from light to light, from bare bulb to dusty shade to the porch light throttled by webs. I thump from carpet to hardwood to peel vinyl tile, dragging my tatters through gloom and mood. I dissolve into abandoned dreams and unmarked words, no good done, no good to come. Pick your poison, choose your weapon, they either forget you completely or come flying in a fury. I slump in my chair, shifting until the pain settles. I keep my eyes wide open, on the lookout for sleep’s sweet oblivion. The night turns.