Poetry From The Weakened Soul
Author: Neil Evans

Chapter 31
Putting Demons Away

Leaning against the cold, stone wall
A stick of burning cancer sprouting from
His dried, frail lips like a withered leaf
When dry, crumpled and crushed together
When wet, soggy and flexible, weak

Wrinkled, his face exhaled a shroud
That made the witness certain
He had experience comparable to
A town sage or wise man. But when
Added to his strength, like a lion, those
That were smart enough, stayed away

Stark over his back was a black-red
Coat, crisp and fresh, a death sentence
To touch, the man was a shark, desperate
For the sweet, warm taste of blood and
Flesh, mixed together with an agonizing
Lust for the deliverance of pain, he bore

The dark, uncanny name of Caleb Jarren.
With a fretful sigh, he let out the last
Breath of killing smoke, throwing his cigarette
Nothing less than a meter away, with
Hate, despise in every inch and foot, but
No further away than the dead, smoking flame

A brazen, cheery voice, squawking happiness
And dragging loving joy through the waves
By which it traveled, came to the man's
Hateful ears, like snake venom into his
Critical, infected veins. And yet the
Bastardized voice continued to sing merrily

How the voice spoke made Caleb loathe
And fight the ever-provoked demons
Inside of him. The screaming urge pounded
Inside, had had to resist the sudden craving
To tear his naked scalp open, to rip off
All the skin and serenade in his angst and anger

Trailing and fading, the cheerful voice stepped
Away, smartly, falling into the unforgiving abyss
Of a different cold, stone-walled alley, a different,
Broken, angst-filled heart's unfaithful ears.
For a moment, he waited in his indirect hate
Before lighting another cigarette, putting his demons away.


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