Standing in the centre of a room. Bare walls surrounding me.
In the doorway ahead of me a figure comes into being-
A cowled spectre whose very presence gives off an aura of unease.
I squint to see who it is, not knowing why they exist or where they came from.
As I look, the figure opens it's cloak and reveals a wealth of dark treasure:
Pills, powders, juices, potions, cocktails, vices,
Images, sequences, vapours, elixirs, fumes and filth.

Such trinkets seem very appealing- They offer
Short-term elation, ideal for a boy who exists in the present tense.
But they're not enough. This shadowy salesman simply does not meet my demand
For base pleasures, for I know that as soon as The Moment ends
I will be left craving. I will only be able to remember the sour taste of time,
The times long gone when I tasted fleeting delight.

And as I think those thoughts it's cloak increases in size-
Two, Three, Four, Five, Six-six-sixfold and the twilit hallway is simply full of
Craven crutches. I succumb to the pitch and start forward.
I stand at the doorway and hear a noise:
clack clack clack
A tiny hole appears in my wall.
And another.
And another.
And another.
And when the fifth and final hole appears jets of crimson spew forth from each one.
Such an occurrence is disconcerting. Straying from my original path
I walk to the nearest hole and let the liquid wash over my fingers.
I lick it all off. I love it.

Turning to the door once again I face the macabre merchant.
I reach out my hand slowly...
And push it away.
He stumbles back and breaks into pieces and
Those pieces break into pieces and
Those pieces break into pieces and before long
The hallway is covered in the black ash of life's dregs.
I turn and jump out the window.
Heh