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The view from this cracked motel window pairs perfectly with this dower depression flattening my mood and numbing my awareness,
The sweet reward of a drink well drunk.

The misshapen humps of old asphalt going gray and the fading whispers of yellow paint meant to mark the resting place of one’s transport leave a vague presence in my mind,
A ghostly one.

A notion I can’t quite pla-

Bodies.

Oh yes, bodies.

I reiterate to myself it’s just that intoxicating veil on my eyes but in the depths of what makes me my own I know that to be false.

I’m thinking of death.

I’m…sinking in it, the thought is taking hold.

That ghostly thought, that at first fluttered and now bats.

Bats and bats and bats at the bone bars that surround my mind in its urgency.

The lids of my sight flutter in time with that wretched awareness and yet does it quicken.

“Oh!” I moan.

“No…” I whisper.

And that glimpse of silver at the edge-or was it steel?- is oddly comforting. 
Oddly soothing.

It’s speaking to me in sweet tones, reassuring me that it’s all ok. 
That everything is a-okay...

The glittering silver comfort is moving closer, but becomes no clearer. 

It must be an angel that my simple eyes are not fit to look upon.

It has weight now, a pressure on my soul.

“It’s all okay.”

Oh how I wish that to be honest and true.
But it’s just another sweet verisimilitude.

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