In Ghost Reflections

Sunday night in December,
the lights are blown
so I sit in darkness
with the television blaring,
there’s an empty room
and it smells of alcohol
and dirty sex.
There’s a sound that
keeps repeating,
a soft symphony
of rainbows and shadows,
there’s a light that keeps returning
and then once again leaving,
it truly frightens me how awful 
I have been,
it frightens me, this drunken madness.
I hold the revolver in my hand
I juggle time with my heart
I’ve drank enough to kill a man tonight
and all it’s done is make me sentimental,
all it’s done is gifted me these ghosts.

Sunday night in December, 
the rats run up and down the walls
the vagabonds dance in the rain,
this isn’t paradise, it’s prison,
gold and white spirals of your eyes,
its all that keeps me going,
like the trees of tomorrow
like the skies of yesterday
like this life and the next
it’s going round and round
and I cannot see through,
I can only see myself
in the walls
in the abyss
in this never ending cycle of existence.

Portals,
I can see, sometimes,
I can see, past it, past me.