The dawdling time is over, how conspicuous are they?
The ones who told me about them left many years ago, but it WILL be soon.
They close now, I can feel their tepid breath upon my lashes. Without a doubt, as sure as the frozen pipes shall crack and heathen gentry gather for the end,
The ones too delightfully pustulous to speak of have arrived.
A shock. Tis nigh on the darkest hand-piece and the least smooth of blades!
The fools! What have they given me to work with here? Do they really expect me to continue?
Only 27 parts unformed and the rest,
a glance from beneath withered eyebrows confirms
are crouched still.. slimy and whole.
I turn away as yet the gangly Scrabblers clamour for purchase about the sill.
‘TESTING TIMES’ I mutter.
Perhaps they would all kindly depart had they heard of more fortuitous opportunities between ‘The Oaks’ and ‘Riverside Walk’?
When will it end?
‘WHO CAN SAY?’
What will become of us all?
‘WHO CAN TELL?’
The will of the wise hides, broken.
The courage of fools hesitates.
Under scorched bracken the multitude shat.
Beside and upon the slithery columns of light the graffiti of mongrel wastrels was indelibly marked.
We pay for that unilateral adulation now.
Oh yes, the tide has told,
High water slaps saltilly against raw shins even as their pierced ocular voids peer through the stained and cracked pane.
I take their useless tools and I DIG.
DIG till my blistered fingers ooze
and frenzied, scratching toenails come away and click betwixt the hole and the door, blood-specked.
Dig still more with splintered steel
and snapped shank
till here in the darkened tunnel
I shuffle forwards, trapped.
Still, tis better than a fate of hobbling
and slow butchery they had gleefully waiting.
Tis over?
‘I KNOW THE TRUTH TO BE NEVER!’
©Bilious 2016