empty world.

a story of subtle depressions.

stark naked surrounded by these photographs, i remember things i had once forgot.
they say photographs take a piece of your soul.
i think that holds some truth. how else would looking at them help you relive some of those memories. those sudden moments that you suddenly forget shortly thereafter.

i have taken the souls of many. i have taken them with me. held them captive. used them for strength.

and now that i've come to return the souls to their rightful owners, they've gone awol.

so here i lie.
here i lay.
nude.
exposed.
with you.
all of you.
and this little bitty black bic.

i fight gravity and rise to my feet.
i fight disappointment and rise to my feet.
i overcome defeat and rise to my feet.

with every iota of strength in both arms, this little bitty black bic is slammed to the floor.
it explodes as lighters sometimes do.
a lot of things happen at that moment.

there was a loud crack
fire erupted using your souls as the fuel
you all scream and cry and this inferno becomes your hell.
i become the devil.
the corners of your confinement singe black and crumble into ashes
the inferno grows.
the only living soul dies along with the captured ones.

and a new man walks out of the flames.
be he phoenix, satan, jesus or nil.
or be they all, at this point, synonymous.