There he is
coughing blood.
There's probably a little bile
and some reflux.
Yet, from here
all I can see
is the deep maroon
of blood spilling at the end
of another golden hour.
There's another man
Framing the alleyway
with his broad shoulders.
Sweat glistens almost perfectly
around his chiseled self.
There's just a little wine left,
I should have poured more.
And there he goes.
Another crack.
Bones really do break
like they do on television.
The poor man's on the floor.
He's so still,
The floor almost moves
in his stead.
A big gulp and the wine's done.
The other one's tasting
what his wine feels like.
He'll soon be off
for another.
The third of this kind
I've seen this week.
My son knows.
Whenever he visits,
he stares sadly
at where the window
should have been,
and then back at me.
He tries,
but these blinding white walls
wear him down to tears.
And my dramatic granddaughter,
with eyes wider than her four chins
whispers,
"Dad, let's go."
As though I'm the one
that's doing 'em dirty.
Maybe I'll see her one day,
down the Divisio Alley.
And then,
my son will listen.
He's still there.
But I'm too old
to be staring at blood
for too long.
I'd call the police
but then frankly,
I'd miss the show.
They're gone.
I should sleep now.
And maybe in my dreams,
these soft, medicine white walls
will finally grow a blush.
Image Courtesy: Pinterest (slightly edited)- Padded cell in mental health facility that is generally used for patients at high risk of self-harm.
What's Divisio Alley you ask? The slightly damp, deliberately decrepit, ruinous nook in your mind which you'd rather not reveal to anyone. It's the place with dank thoughts, creepy imaginations, Dahmer kind of beliefs and maybe just a little more gore than you'd ordinary like to admit to fostering in the regular social context.
Divisio is latin for Division. This alley begins at the divide from your conscious self (the one that acts), and ends at the infinity of your imagination. It's the birthplace of all possible monsters that would later find adulation in Halloween.
There are rules to let out whatever lives in your Divisio Alley:
Joke about it, and you're a disturbed creep.
Narrate it to people and you're an unstable freak.
Believe in it and you're schizophrenic.
Be in two minds about it and you're bipolar.
Act on it and you're (most likely) a serial killer.
Create art about it and you're safe.
Convince others that you don't believe in it and you're the quintessential human being.
Choose well.