I drift about the blackened nightmare bowl once cauterized by Hellfire
And gradually realize that I have no idea why I’m here
Or how I got here for that matter
Who am I?
but I can’t exactly tell you where or what me is
And for some reason I really don’t care
I wonder if this is some residual aftereffect . . .
It comes to my befuddled awareness
that there is a man of sorts
Drifting above the scorched earth
just off to my left
He is just at the range of shouting and
I can see him well enough
if I focus
He’s just standing there in the air
Staring off into the distance
I ignore him and continue my dazed
random sojourn across this desert place
He still hovers there
Always at about the same distance
I can feel him
but I feel no threat
how can he hurt me more . . .
I’m hurt . . .
Ouch . . .
A little bit here
What the Hell . . .
How did I get hurt
Was I here when this thing hit
I’d be dead
Am I dead
Do the dead fell hurt
Maybe you get to feel the last thing
you felt just before you died for all eternity. . .
I’m not dead
Don’t know just how I know this
but I’m not dead
I turn to regard the floating man
He isn’t dead either
Just hovering there with that daft grin
he waves back