It's three in the morning.

Hellscape

There is no sorrow quite alike.
Staring through the merit of the desert,
Searching for an end in the horizon.

It runs as your gaze follows,
Through the dirty old town full of kings.
And the valley of headless horses running wild,
Chased by bullets and lassos.

And the half naked man dances, 
And the half witted boys follow.
And the girls they sing
a very different folklore.

About a gazing eye in the sky,
A watchful angel with its lacrimal gland
Cut
by its master.
It cries without a single tear,
Em eyes forever wide and open,
What's the point of eyelids if you can't blink?

'Let me tell you a little secret,'
The blind hag in rugs crawls and prowls my leg. 
She smiles and
her words came out without her throat moving.
'Gods here don't need your best behavior,
They care not
the killing,
the stealing,
the lies,
sex before marriage,
plowing your neighbor's land.
They need,
Only and truly,
Your hands intertwined,
In a certain hour of certain days.
And keep your head low in their presence.'

The workers lay their tools and axes down
To the nearest tavern.

The dumb kids reached the mine,
The half naked man put on his helmet,
The horses hiss in confinement
of ropes and leather,
The kings keep on fooling themselves.

And the blind old hags grow in number,
With gods and blasphemy in their mouths,
As if any matters after a day's
Pointless labor.

My gaze keeps on chasing the horizon,
My head swings accordingly,
My feet shift meticulously,
And now I'm dancing along the fiends.
They swarm closer after each lap,
War paints and coal painted faces,
Heaving like heartbeats accelerating
And I
Can't stop spinning.
And I
Can't stop laughing,
The horizon spirals a parabola downward,
To the mountains afar and to the ground,
And to the sand right beneath me.
And the watchful eye appears.

And my eyes open to the ceiling.
Sunlight shines through the seam of curtain.
Birds nag lousily like new wounds last night,
Construction workers are already on,
I pull the cover aside,
Greeting a familiar world.