Hinterland

the sky is dark and heavy
dismal as an infant’s funeral
tones of grey and black
divide the days
and we are hostage
to perpetual winter
the sun is dying
heaven is weeping
darkness reigns
in this hinterland
.

Crimson

nearly

never

or hardly ever
not now and then
but now, forever
sinking
they are out to get me
I know they are
their whispered fragments coalesce
to form steel traps
for my clumsy feet
tectonic plates shift
beneath the gut
beyond the entrails
into the deep
the heart of things
the end of night

my fingers are stained
with nicotine and blood
I’m high now – too high for comfort
each horrifying impulse
passes through my colon
with a nauseous thrashing motion
tearing like baby sharks
devouring their birthing sacks
I cannibalised my ego
to construct a prison
with no walls
and no means of escape
this crimson shelter
affords no respite
from the luxury
of self reflection
or the aching desire
for sleep
.