NOTHING survived.

 Yet i live.

Or is it that everyone
survived but i died?

Walking the chalk line
of homicide-art upon
a wet empty alley
in NYC I wanted to smoke.

No funnel of light.
No friends or family
members greeted me.

Just blood, brains,
and fear.

My face.  It left me.
Yet my hands were in
my pockets.  

If this be death then
death was kind.

Across the way, a diner.
I saw people-things
through the windows.

“gimme a cup of coffee.”
You look sore for the eyes
said the server.

One of her arms was missing.

The girl next to me had
something terribly wrong
with her back. That one eye
stared beyond me; made me
turn around to see what she
must have been looking at.

“Make that a scotch instead”
I croaked.

Nothing survived.  Yet I live.

:: 03.18.2022 ::

About EPRobles

Writer, Artist. I like to paint abstract acrylic images onto canvas. I love to read everything, and I especially enjoy science, philosophy, and the arts. I'm new to the blog experience and I very much enjoy it! I hope to learn as much about all the features that WordPress offers and thank you -- my visitor -- for taking time to read my words. Peace and love... View all posts by EPRobles

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