Toll for the Ferryman

I’m banished to the unspoken,
Where fevered nights last beyond
It’s toll, paid by a dark smile,
Dragging the chains belonging to those
Fused to the brittle walls
That sharpen their daggers,
Only to dig out their own hearts,
I’m at the dock of a screaming river
Where lost bleeds onto it, carrying it
On it’s paddled tide,
From out the fog of despair
Comes the stalking boat,
I dig through my pockets, empty
Still digging,
Hoping to carve the toll I need,
Non left upon cold eyes,
As it nears the huddled dock
The boat thuds against it,
Shaking my insides,
From out the nothingness of the cloak
That rows the floating carrier
A hand of rotting bones
Spilling maggots from its reach,
Pulls for me,
Waiting for my part of the barter,
The cloak senses my silent beggary
Without even facing my way,
An open palm slowly molds
Into an outstretched pointing finger, but
Not at me,
To a black cavern
That might as well be part of the wall,
It’s oblivion in this afterlife,
I collapse to my knees
Tugging on the heavy drapery
That pays me no attention,
Still pointing
Towards the engulfed wind,
The ferryman enraged, lifts his oar
Bringing it down upon the ground
Where I’m kneeling,
Giving it a violent quacke,
Then reverts back to pointing
At my eternal chasm,
I rather the immortal inferno, but
No penance for the ferryman
Brings about, an interminable wait.