Crouched in an alley where I was born on a silver dish not too deep and sandy, sterile and cold until a heat comes from nowhere that melts me into my womb, the sand is white but it blurred away as I was sucked up into a glass building where I drowned. Regurgitated the nothing that has been sustaining me for the past three weeks. I don't remember time anymore so it could have been longer but I was beyond caring that stinging pain flew away like speckles of light at the doorway and the little children stopped crying as the world went away.
***
He sat there on the porch, all the paint was flaking off under the sun, faded in places where nothing but shadows stood and a few old deck chairs lay there dilapidated from use. Rolling his head onto his shoulder, resting his chin just so he could see what was above him, cobwebs and a broken bulb, he could not control his mouth as a thin trail of spit dangled down onto his unwashed cardigan. A hand me down tattooed with stains of forgettable breakfasts, tatty from previous occupation, the fabric in dated 60's style brown that was frayed and thin in places.
His chin rolled down to his chest and he murmured an in comprehendible moan that could have once been a word. Long legs lay useless; his gray tracksuit pants two inches from his ankles, which were thin and exposed, tipped with sock less feet.
Another creature stared out at him with a stupid glaze in his eyes as a white starch woman pushed him by shooting a glance to the bent figure, who stood out oversized against the others and then pressed on.
His skin had become coarse, once his vanity could conceal it with whatever potion and paint was at hand in a fashionable colour, now his once Creole skin, slightly colored with the bloods of his family, paled away from loss of sleep, the drugs and constant isolation from the light.
Speech slurred into a monosyllable inside his heart wanted to scream as he had done before, from atop a podium his love, hate and passion he wasted so many words, so much more he should have said but now the letters fall down like leaves. His hand a useless club, he cannot ever raise the words and throw them into the air like so many leaves, all dead with no resurrection, that tree died along time ago.
From above and as always a synthetic chime appeared at what would always be known as 4 o'clock would prattle on for a few minutes signaling it were time to be fed. For those who could drag their bodies around however cumbersome their movements they would always trump away like crippled pigs at the sound of the slop hitting the trough.
The statues and invalids who sat apon their thrones wheeled themselves or were pushed by a white starched orderly so at least they can claim they earned their underpay for the day. With the sudden motion his head knocked to the side and then rolled back as the wheels beneath him turned into the eating place. The white starch woman, who pushed him, her skin was like old leather with lips like sour grapes stared ahead as he was wheeled down the long hall. She tried to ignore the face below her, a scar under his nose where the candy had eaten away at the skin, letting the handles slip away before she should so his chair slammed against the breaking chipboard of the table.
Pushed through his mouth so he could never taste his food, not even if he wanted to, it was bland and unflavored all filler. The old hands were cold as they held him in shotgun, as he was force-fed, little did he struggle, he didn't care anymore.
After the food he's lay in his bed strapped in incase he fell though no one would care or notice if he did. He was alone to be haunted by his mind which lay as vacant as the sky, flashes of faces attached to names he could not utter, his blue eyes, his long hair, his dark skin and his crazy smile, his old friends that had all but abandoned him. Truth was, they've forgotten him, especially the one with blue eyes, he still sees him in his mind as a nightmare of all that he could have had but lay to waste into a cheap high over human affection.
That hurt this man more than any indignity he was living, that word in itself was a joke so funny that he held his breath and closed his eyes fighting that urge that kept him cemented to the earth. Shivering as his vision faded his face blotching red then fading away with the tension in his body. Disappearing now all that was of the world was swimming into everything black and red pudding down to the floor.
Just to drift off like white sand from the spoon.