We are lying on the ground, face down, in the dirt. The filth covers our wounds; our blood is a clot in our veins. We cannot stop coughing. Death came […]
Warnings ignored. Sentiments locked away. I’ll see you next year.
A gentle breeze becomes a bellowing wind. The air is dirty and difficult to breathe. Dust devils dancing within the calamity. I am standing still.
I am fixated on a situation from long ago. That moment has become the standard of measure. Balance of thought consumed by the trauma. The scale unfairly weighs.