Where the wind carries silence,
the left hand of Cain struck me down,
as it did Able.
I’ve got to make it to Mexico for one last suicidal hoorah.
The crazed laugh, the sickening joy in
the beating of an angel.
The old ways of revenge, betrayal and the requisite of bloodshed.
I was once religious.
I once had conversations with God,
I once searched for greater meaning.
now… I just want to live.
Awash in the lyrical side of despair,
now I seek comfort in unknown women.
The most laconic assassin? Her? My father? It was sometime back then, that my destiny was determined.
Back before I killed my first man.
I want the memories erased.
The memories of that god awful century,
in which I spent most of my life.
The old, they aren’t afraid of death,
The young believe it distant.
I am a reluctant fugitive from it.
I was dead before I learned to live,
I was dead before I began betraying myself.
Before my erratic behavior and my unraveling relationship with alcohol caused a trail of hollowed out eyes, of loss and paranoia.
I see myself, in the mirror of life, a shattered image, a reflection of a broken outlaw stripped of my weapons.
The loss of youth, the uselessness the mockery.