The night is my companion shielding me with her ebon cloak of darkness from the rest of the world.
She is kin to me, after a fashion, protecting me from the masses that would have me interred in their burial shroud of icy stares.
I can't breathe again. I'm suffocating in the dreary gray atmosphere of these cold streets.
I lay on my back and let the cold rains attempt to wash my sins away.
The many tortured voices of the saints echoing the last rights in the hollow corridors of my mind.
The carrion birds aren't coming fast enough for me, my body isn't dying like I want it to.
Fear is my salvation as I pick myself up, the smell of the gutter breaking my disasterous reverie,
Collared by angels, forced into slavery by my own dark passions I am a darkness unto my self.
The night is my lover and I've not a prayer.
A.J. Downey
12-16-2000
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