Logan weeps as he watches it all burn. The smoke rising like death from a wintry rest. He cannot help but feel the world upon his chest. His eyes flooding beneath his feet, his hands wrapped upon his face like a mask.
But he cannot hide the misery that bellows from his sorrowed soul. He is alone, a solitude man with far fetched dreams. Reaching, falling, they slip through his fingers like light. Catching only the darkness that is left behind.
Even the birds that flutter about veer from his existence. They have abandoned all trees, all of natures touch. For Logan has breached the soils of earth with rotted roots. Piercing the once flourishing greens of his land.
But he is poisoned, poisoned by the ache of his heart. His eyes drivel with sorrow, sadness has sunk into his gut. Heavy be even the smallest breath. His flesh as pale as the dead, and like the dead, he feels no more.
He feels only the decay that has grasped his ribs and constricted his beating heart. He is slow to smile, slow to laugh, but quick to the anger of his anguish. He boils red inside, steaming coals beneath his flesh. But his touch his cold, his voice his brittle.
He screams as his echoes are heard no further than his own ears. How much he wishes to forsake, to walk away. To plunge to dark swamps, let the heated waters of tar take him. Envelope his lungs like melted metals to a cast.
But preserve nothing. Let the shadows be his only trace, for they are never seen as more than what they be. Hallow vessels for the withering to seek shelter. Vanish to the prisms of pitch, become nothing more than a fading print upon a shore.
How dearly Logan wishes to dissolve to the coldness. Become particles of detritus. Feasted by the bacteria like a sickness.
The dark smoke smolders upon the horizon with no veil. It openly rises, scouring every mountain, every valley, river, creek, and road. Devouring the living without a sense of sympathy. An apathetic take of existence.
Logan's eyes darken like midnight. They pearl like marble, shimmering upon the thunderous strikes of lighting. A storm hails over his heart. Waves crash upon his ribs, and demons salivate from their ships.
Raising his hand like a flag, Logan opens his heart, and from it shines a flickering light. And like stars in the sky, the demons take to it as if a sailor. They bash their ships upon the rocky shore, gladly letting the carnage of the storm take a few of their many.
And like ants they scurry to the light. They flock like months to lamplight and crowd the flickering beam. And with their tongues they savor the gleaming starlight that beams from Logan's heart. And with pathetic intent, Logan flails back, landing upon his spine.
Lying flat, looking to the dark thickened sky of black. Laying motionless as his demons consume him as if the sugars of heaven.
We are all at the edge of letting our demons become ourselves.
Take into account, you are only alone if you do not speak up, A Man's Traveled Heart
Coming soon, The Bleeding of Words
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