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Preternatural breath.

04.21.24 – Speset

I’m tearing my hair out wondering where the errors are appearing. I’m nearing the point where I air out my dirty laundry, spouting morbid poetry on the empty worry of veering towards a harried existence. It’s divisive and driving at a dead end. No wonder I’m marking the murders in red outlines, chalk doesn’t even stain the sidewalk, most move over without wonder on the souls suffered under the old concrete. Their own soles scuff at the request for solace, for even a moment of silence. Remembrance is too far an ask, even for the lost, the lifeless, the lives in unrest. We made crimson the color for that prison, bound them in the permanence of such a sentence, penance is erased with poor penmanship. We forget the person, recall only the position of their erosion. The signs stay red, arrows under the clutter to prevent an about face. Returns are re-runs disappointing and invented to extend the time in the black and white. We’d rather have lies than lessons, let fiction favor all the angles we spy from. In those homes it didn’t matter if we made a mess, in fact we deserved less and yet still received the best others could offer. Nothing doomed that difference like spelling out all the destruction originating from our instructions. We drafted maps, kept scraps, hacked a path and never thought to look back at what we sacked to keep the status quo. Probably we didn’t want to know, like ignorance would insulate us, and still we noticed that we stood on hallowed ground, with hollowed hearts, unable to follow those who could keep us sharp. The blunting built up in my head, left the letters unread, and the edits sporadically extended.

-VGB