How can he be here?
It must have seemed like a good idea.
How could it have seemed like a good idea?
And now he stands
Coated by one inch of empty air. No more.
I watch and cannot breathe.
Don’t know what to do is a thought,
And I don’t think, I have no thought.
Like no sense in the sense book.
With every pore in my skin
As waves of him
Potential of motion
Of what is to come
Chaos, shards of flying death
Shivering shrieking spears
Bursting out, flying outwards
As, maddened, he turns
And turns again
And splits my skull with his bellowing rage
Does he understand
That he himself is the source of his pain?
I can’t explain
I can’t talk
I can’t run
And I stand
And then, in
editors note: Origins or solutions? Getting the hell out takes priority... after breathing, that is. - mh