In the age of flagrancy there is little that is revelatory, the moon from the blue, the books in the red. The buried bloom, the bared root. The teeth that have never shown for smiles, the heart that wants for some other tautology. Office holders openly advocate murdering their constituents while others in the government sit shiva as accessories, stealing, and sucking the nation dry. The attacked and the neglected conveniently at each other’s throats, while the world is parsed and pitted for Monopoly tokens and fairytales. The heart dies slow, but who doesn’t in this pandemic.
Every day the trouble grows greater, every day I matter less. Another worldly inconvenience, another ghost dragging a corpse that just won’t drop. The sky full of flies and fireworks, the moon sneering with contempt, nowhere to be and nowhere to go. The slow rot of obsolescence, the dismal creep of senescence, the heartache and the burdened breath. The stars keep time while we sputter and burn, bursting all at once, fizzling out on the wasteland landscape. A touch that turns it all to trash, the words only for the last episode’s rehash.
There is a sort of crime under cover of authority that only calls for death. You wield a gun or gavel, you hold a title for some term, your corruption is only truly answered with your vicious, violent death. You want to play cops and robbers, you don’t get to be both for free. You move your funny money in the dark to take food and shelter from real people, you need to be put to the fire. Too foolish to allow people to live their lives free and unmolested, you don’t need to exist. I am through abiding by the laws of the unaccountable, who rely on goons and liars to enforce their will. I am dying, but I will not go alone.
