To A Dead Friend
Between the grievances of alcoholism and empty glasses, a descent proceeds the unforgiving sobriety where I despatch unpleasant flashbacks in writing sprees, filling the pages
like graves, with drunk jagged-edge spade marks.
In these places I try to survive.
An anger screams of a declared torture whilst fingers burn like magnesium strips until they curl up and crash, smothering the belittling memories of failure. The wind beneath my wings was from falling, not flying.
The carnivore turns to cannibalism.
Uncaged and ravenous, despair blunders its way from the shadows in this haunted house. The loss of tomorrow for a beloved friend decimates the structural walls of hope and happiness, corrupting those saccharine memories of laughter in our favourite times.
Sat on the chin of God at the mouth of Hell.
Nightmares came crashing through the skull with unwanted devestation. The closing moments, that final breath as bones bend until they snap, vicious pictures swimming in gore, a dead friend in a buckled heap.
The wrath of suffering fills the throats of mourners come.
The waterfalls of our dreaded tears stain the earth as our cries become the wind. The shotgun blast of heartbeats riddles the architecture of beloved faces, succumbing to the void, the loss, the sobering reality of saying goodbye.
Death is not the end, it's just a passing into another terrible extreme.
A carcass of exhaustion I have become after purging, now left destitute of all emotion I am free, unbound by the mirk of depressed luggage
and scrap metal.