There are leaves playing with debris out in the streets (and it’s home to me). Tears fill my head to the point of sea sickness, causing me to stagger along; like a drunken pirate.
I’m on a road to ruin where life slows to a crawl. Figuratively on my hands and knees, filthy & begrimed most of the time, and I must lie down.
Oh please let me rest; I beg for the ground to bare my hindrances, and help me quicken my pace toward extinction. There are no crossroads, no signs, and no sunlight, just the midnight blue and a few stars which accompany the moon. Slovenly I meander through the thickening shadows gaining strength until they are shoulder to shoulder.
Insects crawl upon my flesh, looking to burrow themselves a new home. I smack my neck upon their touch, but to the flies, I am only muck. I’m too exhausted to fight this war and swathe a path through the swarm. Let them fly, let ‘em creep and crawl and multiply...at least my body will not completely go to waste.
Everything I touch is covered in winter’s gown. I’m so out of breath, when I collapse there is no sound. Face down, my mouth to the ground, I inhale deep. This is it, finally...the punctuation to my life.
…and it’s disappointing at best.
.
I look though watery eyes…at hands blistered, bleeding and sore, raw from clawing the earthen floor. Fingernails bending back from rocks and roots in their path. I am numb to the severity of abuse I put myself through. A grave so shallow, birds will perch upon my wings; their new home on rigor mortised limbs.
My eyes close to the sound of buzzards crooning over dinner, like silverware scraping across a plate; and I’ve just one fear left... That death just ended, and the rotting, and chewing, and burrowing of my flesh will be felt by the deadened heart within my chest.
S.C.R.E.A.M..I..N.G in cadaverous spasms...
...my life is unchanged.
By: Jay Bird
Copyright ©2007
