Hell

It was a cold July day that
I wondered onto
Her yard.
I was hungry and she
was silent but her
thoughts were hard.
She remarked that I
was strange and
she was intrigued by me.

I disappointed her and went back out on that cold cold day.

on my right was an old church
and maybe I'll give
god a chance,
I though,
but the doors were locked
and the windows were broken.

I went down to the post office
on that ice cold day.
The rooms were all filled with junk,
all addressed to me.
Every letter asked questions;
Where do you come from?
Who inspires you?
and I hated every
single.
one.

The next day it rained a soft rain
and I walked down the road with my
jacket,
thin,
and pasted to my back.
My longer hair was greasy-
something I could have never stood
and my finger nails however I chewed them
grew back when I looked away.
My teeth ached; all of me did
like a toothache.

I walked to the city where the buildings'
grandeur was only in
gargantuan size. They were grey
like boxes. It was the image of
soviet architecture
I had seen in a school book
as a child.

the city square was a disease ridden place.
The inhabitants all
dressed in middle
ages' garbs,
toting the dead.
I couldn't have caught the disease;
Not down here,
but I felt it crawling on me.

And as every voice cried my name;
Ever man and woman and child who-
in their ignorance to Germ theory
didn't know they may have caught
the black
plauge-
breathed the sickly thing on me.

they all asked me questions,
and the germ which
rose in
them like a swelling tide
was not more torturous-
Paled, in fact, to this
torture,
the torture of
the
limelight.