I’ve hit a wall of never

Touching again, of never sharing ex-

Cept bone cold glaring at the wounds

I helped create simply by

Standing by the mine shaft

I let this happen I let

It all implode, every woman’s

Face, body, smell, thought drain into the likeness

Of one at peace but enraged

Smiling like a hellfire bent on

Avenging, but having not the strength to rise

She was -- I can say no more, no less, no longer

Only that she’s become the hate that loves tomorrow for what

Promising hell-realms may come.


And I thought the better of not

Thinking about it,

Thought it would be better

For all if this monster

This fiend, this boiling

Pain was outed, like some

Lurid priest torch and pitchforked

From parish to hellish to parish

To perish as one who

Was most certainly, beyond

A shadow of a doubt, not the

Victim of a witch hunt. 


But this thought makes me snicker

Hating my core to the core,

Waiting for some goddess to smite me,

Still more gargoyle laughter, until

I feel I have become a gargoyle, who’s

Flight will never end.



Ric Webster




Submitted: February 12, 2019

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