First of all, let us be frank:
the great thing about hell, about knowing you’re there,
is it can only get worse, it can’t get
And so given this fact, and accepted this truth,
it then becomes a game
of spotting the others you see all around you
and then wondering why they
find themselves in hell just like you.
And the reality is that: it’s a game where they call you:
where they beckon and seduce
you and reckon and consider
you and flatter and receive
you and gently attempt to pursue
you until that very moment
when you lose all hope.
Which is when hell does really become
the place you should be:
without hope you just begin to play the
game that the rest have been playing all this time:
the rhyming without reason of
the pain of cruel denial.
Don’t reject me any more;
don’t make me believe.
Just heave me offshore in a curious little breeze:
I’m flotsam to your message
lost in a bottle: don’t forget that too readily,
mind: even flotsam can stain
the pain of a beach where lovers once walked hand in hand.