the rivers

the rivers of hell are mine, they aren’t yours,
they’re mine, flowing hot and dirty and
endlessly,
they’re mine, all mine,
special,
for me,
nobody else,
they’re mine
rushing me along,
night and day,
week after week, month after month,
year after year,
they’re mine
you hear me?

I no longer try to get out,
I go with the rivers,
I talk to the rivers,
I tell them things
like,
“I know you.
we’ve been together a long
time.
I expect nothing
else.”

we rush toward death
and neither of us
gives a damn about
death,
we’ve got our own game
going.

the rivers of hell are mine,
mine,
the rivers of hell
flowing
going
with me,
my hells can only be
my hells,
they’re mine now and
maybe
forever
hell,
so be
it.

Author
Charles Bukowski
Written
1983