Day: Oct 2, 2020

Slender figures rushing the foggy streets in agony,

Struggling to pay for the rent of their own minds,

An irony, a travesty.

I run with them past armed guards and loopy culverts.

The dogs are onto us the second we hit the road.

They want to make us the culprits.

We see purple cloaks rolling down the streets like carpets,

Altering the sights of the city, choking out those

That grew defiant.

Rays of sun playing on sharpened edges of machetes.

The weak are taken back to their rooms with menace,

Others become enlistees.

The fog is entering my flaring nostrils, it’s spreading.

My legs become numb to the pain of their teeth.

I fall on the floor, staining the bedding.