A fire
ripped from my chest;
A waterfall
storms from my guts;
A chain
cuts on my wrist;
A scream
sinks into the rust.
“Never shall you find me,”
the breeze whispers.
“I am your ending triumphant”
“I am the grinding unpaid fee,”
the brush fire bellows.
“I am your candidate incumbent.”
I crawl toward the exit,
skull on fire;
I reach for the medkit,
hitman for hire.
On the other side,
a policeman blares:
“This would be suicide,
this won’t end fair.”
I stand,
his chest in my sights
“This is your reckoning,
the pain of one million nights.”
Before I can unleash
His eyes glaze over, wide
“I’m a guardian of peace,
This I can not abide.”
Behind me, a gun unloads
My future splayed behind;
My insides spilled upon the road
The Truth I shall not find.
A fire
ripped from my chest;
A waterfall
storms from my guts;
A chain
cuts on my wrist;
A scream
sinks into the rust.
Clay The Scribe 