A normal day for the working man

just some nonsense that came to my mind.

 

Alarm blazing,

blue and emaciated,

slowly rising up to a monday.

A shower,

the drumming of exposed ribs,

no hair to wash,

just a skull now.

A fulfilled breakfast of souls and worms,

wash it down with warm, salted blood,

from victim number forty two.

In the closet,

hung by rigor mortis set corpses lies,

your cloak,

the all famous black satin cloth.

Sitting on a bed of nails,

shoes lying beside him,

a knock on death's door;

a witness is here,

here to bear witness to a murder.

Walking down the street,

so enthralled with annoyance,

knives lie in the basement,

drenched with tears and depravity,

shoes still by the bed.

First appointment is with Satan,

the usual morning torture,

small talk of sports;

A quick trip to the retirement home,

then across town to a pileup.

Day after day souls come and go,

bored with his line of work,

sitting in a class of lawyers,

he figures enough people are dead,

he might fit in with us.

Going home to end the day,

taking the night shift off,

climbing into bed with a good book,

thinking of the future that awaits him.

Author's Note

I got kind of scatter-brained throughout the middle...but I dont feel its the worst piece here. Idk though.

Reviews

[Fire&Ice]

blue&emaciated, good imagery; -so enthralled with annoyance; idk I just like it, "he figures enough people are dead"

[Katherine Marie]

blaaaaa - wonderful. have a nice day.