Acheron

There he lies,
mangled,
a twisted wire hanger
clutching to the doorknob
of his closet home,
grinning,
like a child winning
a tiny stuffed bear
from a carnival game,
cold,
a ship sinking
iceberg both ruthless
and frozen,
as bystanders point
all aghast,
gore paving the street
a dark crimson
and my eyes tear
a cascading poison
trickling across my lips
gasping
for life like a fish
out of water
as cold metal rings
clasp my ankles
pushed to cross
the river of blood
spilled out on the road,
seeing
everything gone behind me,
a barren land
of sand and clouds.