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Does getting up in the morning get any easier as one grows old? Maybe I should start sleeping earlier. Its 10 in the morning and I am so sleepy, I had to crawl out of bed. Only my roomy putting on the TV at full blast to some music station woke me up.

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Ink upon the darkness makes no marks at all. Scrabbling about in the shadows nails, bleeding, fall. Scratching at the doors to my own damnation, I call. Names of old, names forgotten, slithering, from my tongue, they fall. Fat, obese, they move upon the trails I've left behind. I beg them to stop, do not witness my thoughts, my crimes. But they continue, no heed paid at all. Those that came  from the shadows eat me, my past.  They eat it all. Slick with anxiety, I continue, appalled. Eaten, my fingers to the bone, I watch,  enraptured, enthralled. This blood that erupts  from my throat, leaves no marks,  not even silence, upon these walls.
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