Bruised Kerosene

I'm not sure what I remembered the most from that night

If it was the man

Raging and screaming outside the house

The smell of alcohol and cigarettes wafting off of him

Concatenated into some abhorrent taste of regret

It stuck to him as a sick acid

blighting his mind

Made him heavy in heart and in hand

His soul had been blackened by the smoke and temptation

A nourishment of disease nourished in an age old hickory cradle

He was the one who casted his jerky shadows across the yellowed lawn

Never resting in one place

Shifting and evading the wyre observer

I'm not sure if its him I remember him the most

or the blazing, insane monster burning beside him

Bellowing its sulfurous plague 

While it lurked over us

Trying to consume and devour the last of what's left

Seething with its ghoulish famine

But I think I remember myself the best that night

numb to everything but to dull tingling in my flesh

Watching the house of cards alight in kerosene

While the taste of coal stung my mouth

Eyes reflecting the pulsing construct in front of me

But the one thing that has stuck with me through all the years

was the monotone voice on the radio

telling us without any modesty

that there had a been a fire on broadmore avenue

the house had burned down, but there were no casualties

The ever familiar voice in the background of my life

Reached in and turned me back to reality of our

It's that voice that I remember in ever clear quality

It still makes me go cold