Uninvited Guest

There he was again
Creeping in again
With the familiarity of an old friend
This uninvited guest
Come to the dark side
Come to the dark side
Dressed as usual in his moth eaten Victorian garb
Lounging in my living room with his lanky scabbed over legs hanging over the arms of one of her favourite fauteuils
A glass of rye whiskey freshly poured sauntering in his hand
Sun weathered skin mottled with brown age spots
Face’s pallor looking like death’s grey ghost
Lips still sticky with the remains of his last meal
Come to carry off remaining hope
Come to throw shade on any remaining light
His laboured physiognomy filling the entire room and sucking up all the oxygen before filling it up again with the smoke from his hash pipe
Throwing his full weight around to settle fully on my hunched shoulders whispering in my ear emphatically with his gravelly voice as if his throat had been rough sanded by a feral cat’s tongue
Come to the dark side
Come to the dark side

Handcrafted poetry by John M. Hines, August, 2016

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