That Last Trip

There they lay, the banes of his existence.
Across from where he rested was gravity's accomplice.
Two clean white chords, gently swinging with momentum.
Dancing together triumphantly at his downfall.
They had brought him down to their level.
Rubbing bellies against the worn, abrasive carpet.
Wearing earth and ash and hair and flakes of flesh.
He grew red with rage and pain and blood.
This time, he thought, he would get revenge.
The last trip he would take would be to the electronic store.