The Other Inside

I’m in one of those moods.

not for me God and the high heavens.

I walk alone, like Cain

and unlike Cain, 

without the mark on my forehead to pass

down to the generations.

rather, a clear mind and a straight path, 

down down into the deep.

like a Dante sans Virgil, ever on a journey of 

self discovery through the witnessed torment of others.

my face frozen in deaths stiff smile as I take one step

in front of the other. I seek not Purgatory or steeper paths.

perhaps, if only a while, to lend a hand to humbled Sisyphus, 

not seeking gratitude or leniency, but only to suffer as he suffers

in his eternal punishment.

I find no sweet fruit in carrying a bitter heart. there is no meaning to my end.

I find no comfort in the illusions we are taught - pale misrepresentations.

better to be the lone steady flame under

the expanse of the far stars and a baleful moon, then

a blaze which threatens its own existence.

there is no emotion, no peace, which can distill my sense

of self into a calm lack of resistance. the sea dictates my longing - 

looking ever outward only to fall back in,

settling into my acidic gut and dancing in those currents.

I have turned my back on love’s fair face.

I go to the bars, with my fists clenched and a fight on my lips. whiskey

doesn’t quench my thirst and no amount of cigarettes will bring me 

fresh air.

I seek the shade in a brittle reflection,

to have been burnt at the 

height of Puritanical wrath.

to have lived in a city during a Mongol invasion.

to have survived the Black Plague

with nothing but will. 

to have my being shorn clean,

translated,

in these meager words I offer to you.