Mobs came this way last night,

Looted their way into our livelihood-our lives.

The air out here is choking; life here — most insipid.

The eeriest of thoughts are inevitable as you walk these streets.


Stumble then palpitations

Bludgeoning momentarily ceases.

Recorrente sharp pain from one body part to another,

I’m here tussling in the dirt with something I don’t recognize, with one I know not.

The smell of iron slowly leaking to the point where it could be tasted.

Disheartening; the sight onlookers;
Fear or nonchalance?
Quick fond memories are splaying, in no particular order.

Distant inaudible chatter and suddenly the bashing stops.

I lay here exsanguinating because of my sweat, slowly becoming unwritten.


To Those Who Died Trying To Live.

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