Black Friday

Oh, my God, the time approaches, digital fever spreads and encroaches upon the mind with batwings of fear, grey and flapping, loud and clear. Tremulous hands clasped on a coffee mug, the worst trip ever in absence of drug; audible blood pounds in tingling veins, impending admissions like runaway trains. Control slips away, again it’s gone wrong, reality tilts and lurches along; stress digs it’s spurs in the flanks of despair and black cockroach legs crawl through fast thinning hair. Adrift and alone, unsupported in flux, and what is it for - just a couple of bucks? for the promise of change is a red cloud of steam, still it grows worse, a recurrent bad dream. Time always loops with the air turning blue, Black Friday is come with it’s sick deja vu; and the fear felt torture in dark rancid breath, holds no great escape in a promise of death. Conviction strikes home, freezing hammer of steel, it knowingly pounds the truth cold and real: however it cuts, above or below it, God’s just a sadist who don’t even know it.