Sunday - Entry 1

 It’s cold, colder than I feel it should be in fall. I shiver, a cool breeze brushes against my neck and I get up from my seat to close the window, but find that it’s already closed. Chalking it up to my imagination I sink back in the rolling chair and mindlessly tap the desk with my Bic. Another breeze, chillier than the first, sweeps across my neck and my arms shudder with goose pimples. I spin around in the chair and check the window again; closed. I press down on the lip as hard as I can anyway and as I rise to return to my seat I notice something behind the dresser next to the window. I pull the dresser away from the wall to reveal a partially open [redacted] that I had never noticed before. Goose pimples pop up all over my body as I shudder again, but not from the breeze. It feels like something is in the room, watching me. Could something have come out of the [redacted] without me noticing? What could it be, if anything? Fearing that the breeze might close the [redacted] and sensing there would be no opening it again if it did I step past the dresser and over the threshold.

                I walk into a dark [redacted], thinking to myself it couldn’t be that long considering the size of my room. I step cautiously through the darkness feeling for any obstacles but find nothing. Another breeze brushes against my neck and suddenly I feel compelled to walk further into the [redacted], as if some unseen force is pursuing me, demanding that I go on. And I do. For how long I walk I cannot say, but I do as the force commands and eventually I see a dim [redacted]. I approach the [redacted] and find myself in a [redacted]. As I get closer I realize that the [redacted] is being held by a figure in a long, white coat. He appears to be examining a long, vertical [redacted] in the [redacted]. My footsteps echo as I approach the figure and as he turns towards me I’m struck by his appearance. He is old, at least he has the countenance of an old man. His face has bruises all over it and his eyes are sunken into his skull. He looks angry and somewhat frightful, like he is desperately trying to finish something before running out of time. We stare at each other, both of us strangers encroaching on one another’s space. Questions begin to form in my mind as my shock gives way to curiosity, but before they can find their way off of my tongue, the [redacted] in the [redacted] behind the man opens, and like a great beast, swallows him whole.

Born on the runway.
Told there’s just one way
Drive throughs till sunset
Well that’s what some say.
Can’t wait till Sunday?
Lord knows why.

Redeemed of the sins we’ll commit again on Monday.

‘cause of fallacious priests,
So he seeks voraciousness
to escape Greece

these streets of Crete;

Just a means to meet the beast,

so he offroads
to avoid the leashes

tryna iron out my chronometer’s creases.

They wanna know his tricks,
But he ain’t like the cliques,
So he rolled down i-76
And he ain’t looked back,
Lest he turn to salt
and they ain’t worth that.
Watch him fade to black.
Hammer and nail,
tooth and claw,
he will start from scratch.