"Hello," says a great man
Wrapped in sleek black wispy something
He's tall and shallow
Speaking so suave it's bound to rub off.
"Not many get the opportunity I am about to offer you
So ponder well, please," he says
The syllables slip off his tongue
Like the droplets off my face
I lie on the cold wet ground
Drenched in my mistake,
But I can no longer feel the worn grained cobble
And the night is grey, everything is grey
Save the cold wet ground
Where I lay drenched in my mistake
A step closer.
"I can give you redemption," he says—
I cannot take a breath
—"Like nothing you know,
Like everything you've dreamt of."
I wish to shake, to tremble
Wish to say, to apologize—I did not understand
"The path to freedom," he whispers—
I cannot look about
—"A Godlike salvation."
But I can hear the movement
Fine tuned, volume low
Footsteps rushing, frantic sobbing,
Beautiful horror splashed, so unlike the beloved movie reel.
The great man stands taller now
It's a rattling intake of hollow breath,
Much unlike the sweet smooth sibilance
Only derision and beguilement—a break in stance
—and they crack through the scene's duotone
"There's nothing left for you," he says
"Nothing at all,"—a melanoid smile
—"And you choose now to regret."
Between the red and grey;
No shades more arresting accepting or affecting
Until I was lying on the cold wet ground
Drenched in my mistake.
a.n. this brilliant dose of ambiguity has something to do with the fact that there were two scenes flashing through my mind, both completely opposite of each other, yet with similar attributes. surprisingly morbid compared to most of what i write, i know.