These streets are narrow leading

me on to the gates of heaven or hell,

(It is what you make of it)

and decasia slips through

the floor boards, trickling onto

my toes and pouring into the

hole within my heart.

 

“Creee-eee-k”, the doors swing wide,

I stumble in the darkness feeling round

for the familiarity of wooden panel or

switch,

…..useless.

My senses refocus, and sihloets begin

to appear in the night only to be whisked

away from me by the harsh glare of

the flashlight coming to life for the

flicker of an instant, only to be snuffed

out like the flames it impersonates.

Drift on in this mildewed dream,

and try telling me that there is any

other way of being as natual

as the fall from grace, and the

return to nature.