There’s Always a Story

Cobblestones
slick with water
with algae
centuries
drop after drop
building a story
etched
into each brick.
Fog
stretching
reaching
’round corners
sick fingers
niches found
crannies poked
horror bore a new face
a new weapon.
Stalking
through the blackness
seeking
smelling
miserly men
contemptible cocotte
selling 
money making
even as pain
roars
blood lust 
crack of the whip…..
made within these sewers
bones turned to armor
stalk the death
brought me here
as I become the reaper.
To madness.
To desire.
To memories…..
barbed tight round
unable to breath
reaching 
begging
even as you die on your knees.
©Feb. 21/21
Picture via Pinterest 
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