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.