Remnant Street

Walking along
Remnant Street
on a cold February night.

Stars struggle,
gasp and die
against the darkness in the sky.

The bitter wind
whips through my hair
chills my bones, my heart.

I hold fire in my hand
between my thin, slender fingers
the long cigarette glows.

Remnants of my life
my bones, my heart
smolder, burn.

Walking along
Remnant Street
on a cold February night.

Medusa is finally dead

The smoke in my throat gets denser
the fog thickens
the noise deepens
my hair coils around my face

I cant breathe
or see
or hear

There is noone else here
just me floating
face up on
the lake of my dreams
the bloody crimson lake of my death

Weeds ensnare my wrists
my ankles
my long loose hair
splayed around my pale white face

Medusa is finally dead.