He stands, at the muted green door at the end of a long
Flickering hallway, as the pulsation grows louder,
Stretching the corridor out from the diseased shadow
That awaits, for it’s fragile knock to be answered,
A twinging pitch floods his ears, crashing him to the cold tile,
His cheek fused to the bleak slab of ice, squeezing
Tighter, the more he struggles, as heavy thuds approach
Opening the aperture cover, but he’s below it’s view,
As the slice from the swinging cover bounces
In the crowded echo, slowly dissipating, abandoning
This crippled being, as he pleads with the inner infestation
To stop, while it eats away at him, slowly tearing
Up his insides, a violent intruder gorging themselves
On his meat, as he hunches into himself, agonizingly,
His cries, shatters stone within, yet it’s hardly audible
To the rat with one eye, peeking out from the crack,
Studying this tiny feeble twig of a man, even to the rat
He was of equal size, still a savory meal for the starving
Salivating rat, surveying the man as it moves in,
Out from the latent space, into the open twitching hall,
The man on his side, his translucent back to the vermin
Slithering closer, unhinging its jaw, to sink its diseased fangs
As the man, with his fleeting energy, gets on his wobbling
Brittle knees, at that moment, finds the charging fester
Gnawing at his arm, and immediately swipes
But the rat, does not detach, finding nirvana
In the flavor of decay, until the poison reaches
The rat’s tongue, recognizes the sensation and aroma,
Lets go, and slowly climbs down while wiping the blood
From its sinister grin, as the man, out of breath rhetorically asks,
“How does a disgusting creature seem even more crude?”
“You should really be viewing your own reflection
Before referring to anything else as you so politely said.”
Surprised that the rat responded, the man scurried
Back against the spinney wall, staring intensely
At the one eyed speaking rat, moving closer whilst saying,
“Now, you must be thinking you’re feverish and delusional,
An outburst from your paroxysm, festering in your brain,
Still unsure if you truly hear me, am I truly coherent?”
Shutting out all his surroundings, he tried to regain control,
“No, it can’t talk, this disease has invaded my sanity.”
“Sanity! Such a lucid concept, where you don’t question
What is laid out right before you, like a talking rat.”
“I just need to speak with the designer of my doomed fate.”
“The demon, behind that door, barters for your life,
But what are you willing, to throw down at it’s feet?”
Silenced by the rat’s inquiry, the man searches his haze
As he bares emptiness, for all he possesses is villainy
Anchored, to his eroding ravaged wasteland of a corpse
Dragging itself through the internal seething, trembling
In the bleak, falling without making any sound,
Grinding bones upon the stone irony, of his own existence,
A painfully blank expression, stretched across his face,
As the rat stares at the stunted crippled husk
Before it, who could be taken and stripped of value,
And the rat, could not let the opportunity slip past
Without getting it’s share, and there was one item it desired,
“Don’t worry, I’ll prime you for your interaction
With the beastly puppeteer, for a specific trade of course,
I want your left eye, so that I will be whole again.”
The man pondered, contemplating his daily routine
With one eye, then contemplated killing the rat
After he got what he needed from the it, and agreed,
Still hesitantly, how can trust be granted to this vermin,
Yet, he leapt and acknowledged their temporary bond,
Then the one eyed rat, sprang into action, vanished in through
The crack, between the bottom of the fortified door
And concrete floor, then the man heard scratching
Along the portal from the other side, scurrying to each lock,
All along the entire length, clicks and clanks echoing in the hall,
Creaking slowly was the door, as man quickly hid,
“Rat! Those locks disturbed silence, has the designer awoken?”
“You worry too much, we mustn’t delay your sacrifice.”
And as soon as the last syllable was uttered, the rat was gone,
Down the gullet, of the designer, towering over the man,
Panning up to his wide, glowing, red eyes starring back,
A hideous collection of acquired eyes, frozen in decay,
Trapped, in the thick web, of the designers face,
“What for do you occupy the space in front of my door?”
“Sir, Designer, a bargain for you, I’ve come to ask for my life,
In exchange, I present to you something of mine you desire.”
Saliva dripping from the designer’s mouth, a runny faucet,
“How do you know, what I desire, are my lustings generic?”
“Not in the slightest, the rat you ate possessed
This information, from being a dweller, inside your walls.”
“Now inside my stomach lining, an appetizer,
I’m hungry for my entree, entrance has been granted.”
The designer moves aside, and waves in the weak link,
A still hush, inside of this bland cavern, on the 17th floor
As the designer, leads his new guest into the drawing room,
Filled with occupied parchment, lives all sketched out
To every plausible end, as well ones as far fetched,
The designer dove back into his sinkable couch
And looked up at the scared, shaking, bag of frail bones,
“Lets see if this rat was true, present your offering.”
“The wretch you devoured, explained your cravings,
So I offer you, my heightened sense of touch.”
The designer sat up, never removing sight, not a single eye,
From the shrinking man, as the designer got up close
With a dastardly grin, sniffing for truth in his words,
“No one, has ever offered their own fragile touch,
Do you know what would be escaping, from your senses?”
“Yes, I lived with endless scratching on the sensory walls
As crimson, pours out and builds up, over my gulping breath,
I’m ready, to lose the razor shards streaking my insides.”
“Pain, is a touch that gets louder, the more you ignore,
What of the sun beaming warmth, while a cool breeze
Rushes by, pushing you closer to the sweet scent
Coming from her flowing hair, and you sink in deep,
You might dissolve pain, but you’ll regret the hollow void.”
The man looked down at his hands, arms and feet
Thinking how he won’t have any feeling, he couldn’t,
Just as he was about to rescind, the man awoke in his bed,
Looking for the designer, but he was alone,
No tall gruesome foreseer stalking in the corner
Sucking on his blood soaked fingers from eating a rat,
But then he noticed, he couldn’t feel his warm covers
Tucked under his chin, or the bed he laid upon,
He tried to brush his hand along his arm, felt nothing,
No pain, or even the water beads from his morning shower,
It was done, deal made, regret had crashed down,
“I wish, there was a way to know, you’re in the good ol’ days
Before you’ve actually left them, because somehow
In the darkness, you know exactly when you’re there,
Those moments stay with you, attach themselves
To every unstable vessel, crushed in the avalanche.”