Wicked House

The path to my door unknown to Vergil
and yet you found it.
Wretched, wretched being,
you are my plague, my isolating pit,
my utter depravity.

For a shot of Wild Turkey
and a drag from a menthol cigarette,
you sold your senses
to the only bidder.

Now you hole up in this
wicked, wicked house
that used to be mine,
attracting all the flies from hell.

Wrapped up beside you
in an impenetrable gloom
I share the love of your nightmare
and smile when I hear
the sharpening of your teeth
while you pretend to sleep.

J. R. Salling is an antiquarian bookseller specializing in the history of science and medicine, a fact sometimes reflected in his written work, more often not. His writings have appeared in many publications including Pindeldyboz, Flashquake, elimae, Eyeshot, T-Zero, Thieves Jargon, Mad Hatters' Review, and Rose & Thorn.

Find more by J R Salling in the Author Index.

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