literature

Chamber

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Literature Text

Some late post-meridiem;
There were several hours already tucked beneath his pillowcase.
You know how it is when a hard day pushes you
so deeply into your mattress springs.
You know how it is when your exhaustion is
so profound that
your body can’t spare you
even the energy to dream.

           A pocket of acrid aroma
           crept up the stairs, lightly wrapping it’s smoky digits around banisters
           & passing by hung photographs whose subjects were as still as the man who slept.

One wonders if that night,
the bitter & black billow paused at the doorway
& seeing that spent figure sprawled sloppily about the four-poster bed
it thought to itself, “should I even bother?”

           Though, the smoke drifted into the room, danced all about his form & up into his nostrils.
           It lingered on his eyelashes begging for response but met only the occasional twitch.
           It floated into his ears even, filling all available space as gases do...
           maybe trying to warn him within the walls of dreams or nightmares,
           but, as this story goes
           there were neither to speak of.

His home was heating up.
Burning wood hissed & popped all around him.
Ember danced on usually bland white walls in a fantastic display for no one,
for still the man slept, the pace of his breath increasing now
as a plume of carbon monoxide engulfed him
& began to spill asphyxiation into his lungs.

           He was so worn & weary that the caustic cloud could take
           him with virtually no resistance.
           And so, it did.
           As his body and home reduced to smolder
           and the smolder reduced to ash
           his sleep went
           utterly uninterrupted.


W.M.S.
2017
© 2017 - 2024 WillSchenck
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