i think i fell in a bed of roses

ventilate

the red light pulsed a silent heartbeat outside the window, a neon 'u' screaming its death song among the joy of the other silently buzzing words and pictures that lined the avenue. he smiled, and continued to put his pants on, one leg at a time.

his thoughts went over the past few days, the past few years. he saw her and him and we and she and he and almost christ. almost.

a roach traced its way along the floorboards, leaving cryptograms of footprints in the ages old dust. she stirred, her breathing a clockwork of wheezes and sighs. he slowly walked to the window, peering through the bars and the mildew. he saw whores and johns, a wide array of dead poets, and the ones that called themselves muties. he saw those with the marks of st. alaric on their foreheads, wandering fools stained with the scent of commerce and filth. he saw the consulate, their iron masks hiding the sweat stained brows and their doubtful eyes. and the drums. of course he heard the drums.

he saw a light in a tower across the trees to the east. he knew he was waiting with his liquor and his wit. somewhere staring back at him across the dark expanse red eyes waited. the knife grew a hot silver when he spoke his name under his breath.

next time it will be a bed of roses, her name a thousand words of glory. next time it won't be like this.