the tortures of the damned.

How long have I stood here, watching and waiting, for the apocalypse?  Resorted in anticipation to setting brush fires and watching the smoke curl, dark shapes fueled by imagination alone.  Brooding by the fleeting warmth, the only place I can feel safe again.  My false destiny, my ending world.  My sky rips open, bleeding down on me, but you. can’t. even. see.  Why would you want to?

Black fires led me here, none lead back.  I kept time in a jar, sealed up forever with me.  I kept my love, forever imprisoned within.  Some things are not ours to keep, some things will rot.  Rot and decay, leaving only putrid black muck behind.

Fires and detritus, burning compost and thick black smoke. 

My apocalypse is nigh.