“What do you see when the darkness comes?”
such a haunting question for such a simple conversation.

“I see the demons of dreams long dead,” I say.
He looks at me, through me, as if he could shun

the abomination in front of him. Such an arcane answer
to such a generic question. If this long standing pun

would just end now, that would be better. However
we choose to let it continue on and now has begun

to grow stale. I wish that this inane banter would fucking stop!
I know a way I could make it stop, but I don’t have a gun

with me just this moment. Besides public suicide
is frowned upon. There seems to be an aversion

to having brain matter splayed on the walls. If
I could just answer with “I see an intrusion

of the darkness that I call home!” Shouting this
I throw my fists up screaming to those who listen

that this is not what I had planned. “I see all the times
when I could have made you proud.” It’s time to run.

The fear of failure that has caught up with me
and now threatens to choke out the light of the sun.

I look him square in the eyes, cornea’s ablaze with fire,
“Now my friend, this is the end. Now, we are done.”

© 2015 p.hill

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