Fiction & Poetry

hell is real

a poem by Naroé

hell is a fog

hell is dissonance

and confusion

I am a fisherman

but am no fisher of men

I was fished out of the sea

and I was not deposited on land again

or sea

 

the fog

is in the insidious stares

of your loved ones

in the barbed circumlocution

of your priest rabbi bishop

in the calculated confusion

of the papers papers papers and forms

it is formed by

your mind

 

“hell is real”

the billboard

that chilled you

on the warm summer day

as you drove into the sunset highlighter orange

(middle school trivia

mitochondria and Marbury v Madison

dancing in Technicolor)

pop trash singing its seductive mindless numbing

(anesthetic bread and circus

feeding you

prepping you for combat

waged against your own)

windows (and defenses) down

breeze running gentle fingers

through your hair

(tangling here disentangling there

caressing singing whipping

more alive and vibrant vivid vivacious vicious

than you can ever hope to be)

is not real

 

the shiver down your spine is real

the misting of your breath on the glass is real

the paper cut is real (the scar is not)

the memory of the ache is real (the ache is not)

the fog is real

 

throw a line in

hope to find something concrete

stone to build your house upon

but you are not on land or sea

you find for the foundation of your construction

only sand

 

the sand is not real

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