Can't Turn Off the Alarm

Weak men heavy with their solving atoms. Douse the courtyard in monochrome vomit. He weighs himself. For the millionth time. Peels the shipping label from his ass. And waits for the sounds of that idling truck.

Only witches know the spells we cast. Broken pencils and soft crayons turn hate into prophecy. It will be. It already has. I just need a chance to catch up. Then it will all make sense. Or at least I wouldn't have to remember anymore.

Those toothless wolves with their smelly paws fouling grandma's bed. Those poison apples that are much too red.

The barkeep on the end of the mahogany leers in my direction. Involuntarily dialogues proliferate in my head. I exchange my frown for a ghost. We forget our faces. Summon our poorest rituals. And submit to the strangers consuming us. I pay my tab and take the empty glass away with me.