clouds of pain scatter the morning hours in a cold oblivion splitting the shadows of dark corners in my room. There’s something I’ve been sharing this body with the last few days , writhing deep and literally in my head. This soul’s death rattle with a loathsome hollow voice has been stripping away my identity with alluring conviction. Walking straight through hell’s constricted hallways ignorant to the change in my eye shine and trying to refrain from denial about possibilities endless that the ghost behind these eyes is the devil incarnate. Though time is shallow like mother nature’s Bi-Polar persona and to give myself freely to the black heavens above , would wash the stain of sin from this ever bleeding heart.

Beating , still beating , the abiding thump of fear cycles the motors of the heart furiously without a chance of safe harbor. Distant still in the blue night watching the streets steer quietly under the heavy walk of a dead man sacredly deveining the sour blood that fuels in these hateful decapitating sighs of nightmares. I’m just a sideshow junkie with a rhythmic stance and an invading third eye watchful of surroundings unglued. Waking from a dead night’s sleep in broken sweat. I’m just dreaming.

Hillbillies run these dust ridden streets and mountain side armies of dreadful inhabitants ponder above. This town’s black sabbath aroma induced and fair weather of gray doom and gloom hoverhigh in the heavens so daring. Morning chill winds sift through bungalows and uncut front lawns filtering through screens of filth that possess every window in these halfway houses. Today was just an encapsulated rendition of the end of the world.

Two-song Bob is already ahead of the sunrise , rocking gently on his front porch with that rustic old guitar of his. The same two songs is all he cared to play , for they reminded him of the days his wife strutted besides him with her hand in his. This small town , to them , was heaven on earth. Peaceful and safe , wondrous in it’s own resident way.

In smoke hazed twilight , I sat in my window across the way from his bungalow , living a short moment’s memory of yesteryear’s hard trodden days of a criminal’s life in reign. Listening intently to the ode serenaded to a dead lover’s apparition and smoking cigarettes down to the filter , it also brought back the memory of my own lover’s angel eyes. Glowing green in the midnight hour when we made love under the stars. Bella Nici , soul-mate of my rotted and broken heart and forever the pulse that writhes in me to keep moving day after dreary day. I can still hear the laugh she gives , echoing forever to.

“Something’s in the air this morning” Two-song Bob shouts across the way to me. “Pristine pure evil comes this way , son” he says. He’s right. The smell of the dead arising under crimson tides of sunlit waves. I remember the story my father told of a black unicorn racing across dark night’s silhouetted sky and the soldiers of the dead. Like the book , something wicked this way comes. But I still wonder if Bella had become one of them. One of the government’s newest project to revive the dead.