Shotgun eyes.

"Good afternoon."

I was greeted by the 8 pm clouds,

and the sudden alarm clock,

telling me to go outside.

It was so cloudy,

so cloudy that I could almost cry of joy.

I guess I just can't stand happiness no more.

There was a huge gash in the sky,

stretching above and across I could see,

the brighter lights piercing through the veil.

I remember by brother,

and the home I once knew,

now only but a cursed relic of an abandoned past.

I could see the darker clumps that we never talk about,

and the vast blanket covering every corner and exit.

The only way out is up.

I didn't know it was already Wednesday,

Thursday,

Friday,

the days would pass quickly as I watch them wasting away through my window.

My sun-time was shorter,

and the dark days are desired,

avoiding at all costs the smiting heat of the summer sentence.

There is nothing left to count down to,

only more to count up from.

A priest once told me that to be happy,

That we must have a job to do,

someone to love,

and something to look forward to.

All of which have discrepancies.

We grew up.

When did our toys stop being fun?

I watched the cloudy nights outside,

watching the war zone of fireworks silently

whilst the crackling and the peppering here and there,

the screaming and the pent-up elation exploding,

disturbing the silent space,

the silent road.

Nobody to kiss on New Years tonight.

Eyes always connected to nothing or up,

head always tilted upwards,

towards the sky.

My shotgun eyes,

greeting the compassionate angels of the darker country,

The Grey and Blow,

my Monotonous Purgatory,

my Higher Monochrome,

because I am The Sky Gazer,

I am the Jester of the lost,

I am The Singularity,

it is my job after all.