Black
by
Larry Sells
Remembering the days when
all I wore were black
carrying books in my backpack.
Listening to death metal and causing priests to run.
I worked the graveyard shift and slept away the sun.
Drinking my own blood
to get me in the mood
and write a dark tale.
Crying when I saw the last Twilight Zone
show and magazine and looking for another bone
or two to feed my neighbor’s black hell dog.
Reading Stephen King when I went for a jog.
Waiting for death to come
so I can pay the final sum.
