Villain

I wade into the dark chambers

Opening rusted doors

Walking on creaky floors,

It is stuffy down here

A slow asphyxiation

I pore over the clutter, in trepidation.

Ah, something just hurt my feet!

Delicate piece of artificial glass, bright and brittle

Like my shattered ego, fragile and fickle.

A putrid smell from a dark corner

Dried up brine and decayed leaves

Like my fungus-ridden jar of pickled grief

The old and rusted metal chair

Made a screechy noise when I feebly drag

Like the silent noises in my head that rag.

Can you see that rooted piece of wooden bed?

Stubborn and heavy with larger silhouettes

Like my elephantine guilt and regrets.

Crippling ache invades my being

I am about to collapse; I have never been sicker

In that instant I see a feeble light flicker

Give me more oil, send me more wood

To fuel the fire that shall light up the skies

To burn the trash; to touch a few lives.

Beware of this fist-sized villain

Endowed with a single pump and four gas chambers

Incinerate his stashed up clutter by stoking Hope’s embers.