A Barn

The smell of rust, gasoline and decay were choking me. That tends to happen when you walk around a decrepit barn. The hooks from the ceiling were calling for another victim to hoist and bleed. It crunched red beneath my feet. I was in a panic The moment I saw the faded red and white barn. It had been a while since it was used. It was abandoned. And from what I could tell it was in a hurry. Driving up I didn't hear the swinging of the chains or the wood blistering under a hot sun. I was here and I didn't know why. It wasn't a dare. My friend Isaac told me of it. He told me stories of people my age who were inquisitive and ended up missing after going there. Well he must have come once because it was exactly as he described. I sat on the floor. In the filthy stained Sawdust. I thought about how horrible it would be to be led in on a chain and hoisted. Cut open to let the life drip out of you. Slowly. And this would be the last thing a creature saw and experienced. There were no villains out to get me. It was just a place that was used for a purpose. I thought about cutting my wrists and passing away. There on the blood red dust. Then I thought that was lame. I cut my arm instead. To feel the pain. To mix my blood with the dust. To be at one with something I guess. I wrote in my journal about the fear,the rush of blood spilling from my arm the feeling of one with the universe. Of how I gave bits of myself to thank the creatures. Of the ownership I will feel every time I drive by. I am never going back.

Reviews

[jacob erin-cilberto]

sometimes purpose itself is the villain.
a sad ending within that barn...and I imagine the ghosts of all of those animals hovering within...

just waiting for revenge.
j.

[Coyote Poetry]

Hello Ranger Kessel. Your words, hard and honest. I could feel the thoughts and the struggle. Sometimes we need to bleed to feel alive. This is poetry my friend and thank you for sharing the outstanding poetry.
Coyote