The thing he sells

The windows burnt with morning fire, so I moved across the table like a spider and poured the poison from the glass. The TV whistled and hummed with stars. All I saw was the dull ache that rots; death, hate and putrid states of being.

I must leave this place.

So I moved across the table like a spider through the broken door of my dreams and into the joyless sunlight. With fresh pain to sell the man, I placed my heart on a train that never stopped, to a desk that sounded like hungry teeth grinding. And as the moments beckoned, delighting in my misery I set my pen to the ground. I dug the grave of a thousand words and they paid in drops of my own blood.

I must leave this place.

Night crept and broke the heat with cool suits and the promise of love. So I moved across the table like a spider, through the ice that formed. Freedom stood open chested and beaten with the cat. I licked her face for just one sweet taste but her tears were acid and her skin began to flake. I sat to figure the situation; what had just began? At the other end the liquid stood waiting to be consumed.

I must leave this place. 

So I moved across the table and poured the poison from the glass.