Found hell.

The sun doesn’t always shine

sometimes dreams

turn to nightmares

love can turn to murder

in empty longing

tears turn to smiles

as drinks

into drugs

sober silhouettes

fade to night

in the darkness

the rich turn poor

as poverty

pays for there mistakes

time turns to fragments

and then forgotten

when our fate

is fiction

our destiny is

only distractions

left with monoliths

as monuments

cerebral stones

made from

imagination

inpatients

becomes disdain

for the mundane

or ordinary

become everything

till its blinding

binding the beliefs

that everything is all right

when you know it’s not

she sells sea shells

by the sea shore

and its time

to shit

or get off

the pot

cook the quahogs

by the river walk

talk out the two sides

of your mouth

the wicked way of the south

searching celestial

for stars

ending in dive bars

with ambiguity

~ by Marcus Cheney on January 20, 2007.