And now for a taste of things to come.
No one to laugh and no one to cry,
at my simple jokes and ample tunes.
Christ himself could glisten on his bloody crucifix,
and not shed a single tear,
or smile in beautiful grimace.
There’s not much to separate myself and him.
Where he ends and I begin is lost in human boundaries.
I would cackle and I would grin,
spilling my guts at his feet in bowls of hideous laughter.
My cries would ring cross the world,
blessing simple ears on the far shores.
I’d sob and I’d heckle at passerby.
Cry to them I would,
“Have you any thought?
Have you any pain?
Do you feel at all?”
I’d bleed myself red for naught but their attention.
But their attention I cannot get.
I’d pull at them,
drag at them,
claw them into the Earth,
with none but myself for company.
They would struggle and they would flail.
But soon it would be dark.
And it would be me
and it would be them.
And I would have their rapt attention.
They would have no choice but to listen
to the dying wails of an empty man.
They would have no choice but to see
the knives and the red of an empty man.
They would have no choice but to feel
the gory salvation of an empty man.
And then there would be nothing.
Nothing but darkness.
It would be me
and it would be them.
And we would take cynical comfort in the darkness.
We would take comfort in the knowledge
that there is no more light.
Comfort in the dark.
It would be me
and it would be them.
In the black nothing.
In the cold silence.
In the dark abyss.
And it would be me
and it would be them.
And we would rot
as empty men.
And that, dear readers? That is why we seek shelter in the dark.
