Fallen from the sky
When you have no control over what they think. When a crazy person
decides to destroy you. Your stomach lurches splattering vomit on the
sidewalk. You stand up, scream bile and grab either side of your own
head, pulling the gray hair until your scalp bleeds. You drag your
splintered body up a rocky hillside, cutting your flesh and ripping your
clothes as one shoe falls away, then the other. Your soft inner arms
are scraped with dirt, pebbles, sweat and blood. You pull yourself up
from loose strangled roots, slick milkweed, abandoned creosote covered
train ties.
You spit up bile again, watch it mix with the dirt, and try to stop breathing, to go unconscious, to make it stop.
A
leaf idles down on a breeze far too gentle to be part of your nightmare
and you wonder at its two tone green, shiny on one side, matte on the
other. It does not notice the mess below. It does not need a violent
wind to fall down. It dances while you crack. The leaf does not care
about what's been done wrong. Does not care.
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