just some digital heaps of rotting skin. slow movements abound. sensational tunnels of slurps and sips. vacuums of death in sound.
feeding their generations of sins. with the remnants of their bowels. sucking out the life from each other’s wounds. only looking up for found pools
of bitter blood.
i knew their colors, once. i wore their logic like the proudest son. hair wild and constantly flamed. fingertips worn dry from the digging of wells. righteously long and dark. the loudest echoes quivering the walls.
and i balanced the stars and bore the strain. only to find patterns all around. lined up in perfect rows. a binary field of buckets, deceived. resonating the same hue. violating the same laws. similar breaks in the wood. chips of their colors all amounting to the bane of childhood charm.
and now, through defeat, i’ve watched them all destroy. laboring out a line between my promise and their purpose. while my city still grows. and the walls now rattle with a putrid fear. a high energy to jinx the static of their stay.
followers lining the streets.
and resistant to the promising light.