Decay

I know why I’m here. This place is the only thing that’s real.

These walls are dilapidated and crumbling, moss and roaches festering the foundations.

Flies circle around my head, waiting to feed on my decaying psyche.

In the middle of the room is a rusted chair where I sit, old and weary.

The first thing I see as I look through the reflection on the barred window are the dark circles under my baggy eyes.

As I read the lines on my face, I remember the pages of history that have been burned.

Past the reflection through the window I see a spectre.

A man with dirty blonde hair and hazel blue eyes stares back at me.

His skin is smooth and his teeth is sparkling white when he flashes his canines.

He smiles at me and tells jokes, but all I want to do is sleep forever.

He sees that my demeanor hasn’t changed and says, “What’s your problem?”

“You’re just a fairy tale,” I reply.

“It’s all a joke, really,” he says as he laughs.

I pull out my white hair as the spectre skipped away into the light.

The worms crawl out of my beard and I grab one and crush it.

I grab the pliers from the floor and pull out my decaying teeth as I try to remember with every fabric of my being who the spectre is.

But maybe it doesn’t matter who he is. This place is the only thing that is real.