In the days before the fire, before the delusional vengeance was complete,
before the hail of gunfire, before the sirens were heard from the firemen, and
There Sat a weary loner.... by himself, but not alone.
The king of insurrection Sat silent upon his thrown.
He counted on his fingers all the times he’d passed that place.
Forgotten memories lingered, well hidden, but not
Sadness turned to anger.Anger turned to rage.
His reflection within the mirror, was changing
day by day.
To shed a drop of saline, or to singe the tear ducts dry.
To hold a gaze so insane.To laugh and never cry.
Daily he would stare at the house of those who
refused to let him pass.The calloused hand that
once held a rose, now gripped a can of gas.
While those within the house soundly slept, as
dreamscape held their minds. The King stood
just outside the house staring intently through
He emptied all the contents from a 5gallon container
of diesel fuel. Soaked from head to toe standing firm within
within the pool.
No one knew for sure why these shadows haunted the king.
No one could even speculate what would cause him to strike the match
that enflamed his suffering.
The house was vacant, it had been nearly a decade since
anyone had lived inside.Yet he burned himself down to
ashes. His self imposed fate left the townfolk quite surprised.
As the firetrucks and police cars surrounded the house the
blazing King illuminated the dark.He ran forward engulfed
in flames, and 40 caliber bullets found their mark.
He thrashed and tore his way between this world
and the next.As the unheard voices that haunted
him flew into the nether realm, the heart beat left
his chest.It seemed he had created a world within
a dream,..from which he could not awaken.Like
a kite without a string.No one could really say why
the house had troubled him so.
Why within a firey inferno he had found the way