Purgatory

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It grinds.  Teeth gnashed, soles worn, brows with as much sweat on them as there are tears below them.  Bitter, hopeful, faithful, jaded, and all at once in any bearing heart.

It devours.  The choice of bread on the table.  The choice of wine in the gutter.  What bubbles in the tip of a needle.  Babies cry.  Car drives by with the stereo blasting.  Light hits the rusting barrel on a pistol.

Can’t choose to leave somehow.  Can’t see where to go, past the towers.  Matters little. 

All roads lead back here.  All hopes fly, all hopes crash, all hearts beat, all hearts cease to do so. 

It feeds.  The choice of a head hung low after a double shift and another one waiting in eight hours.  The choice of disappearing after the face gets old, skin sags, and that last pipe hit was meant for the morgue.

Every morning lucid, frightened, regrettable, unmentionable, smiling, laughing, wailing silently where no one cares.  Each morning, the sun could care less on what it rises upon here.  Each time as fleeting as the day before.

Night falls all too quickly here.

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7 thoughts on “Purgatory

    1. It’s the city to me, and I don’t live in the worse nor seen the worst.

      It doesn’t have to be like Ballymun Flats or Cabrini Green (both demolished more or less). It’s just the nature of the Polis to me. There is never anything welcoming here. Enticing, amusing, convincing then foul, exploitive, and as ruthless as any desert or tundra and equally as unforgiving. Not in it’s climate but it becomes the nature of those who dwell in it.

      1. I notice it’s a sentiment you haven’t held back from expressing time and time again. So you think it’s the folk that makes the city or the reverse?

      2. It’s something we built, lost sight of, now it builds us. That’s how I feel. People made it wicked now it makes people wicked because it’s function is to do what it was made to do which is to make things easier for people, which at some point, includes thinking.

      3. I feel that there are some who definitely think more though and coincidentally, they feed on those who opt to think less – essentially wicked breeding more wicked.

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