HELL

I
don’t see the fallen angels anymore.

My existence,
or the lack of it, knows
no hatred, no pain, no memories,
no torture, no ill humor…
I just linger pointlessly
scavenging between the hands of eternity.
At least, the vermin
that runs across the kitchen floor
is squished out of repulsion.
What am I?

Heavy

Thunder,
or the footsteps of the drifting clouds
-the evening shadows
flicker
in anticipation of the approaching storm.