Dejavu
New Member
- Aug 19, 2024
- 1
How trapped I feel here, this quintessential countryside bliss where old city cats retreat for a peaceful, dignified death, or at least one where everyone's too polite to even internally question when it's coming for them, too. This is a desecrated graveyard, long-dead though continuously revived corpses trampled under foot for just a bit more height to look down on others from, spirits captured on their tongues like acrid human ash and unground shards of brittle bone smeared indiscriminately down the spongy tissue to put weight behind their words. In the low basins and valleys where the trashed scrap overflow every particularly insistent rainy season, every last man, woman and child washes up. Prematurely counting myself as one of the dead, I will lapse the blood-brain barrier, that of mind versus body. Will they find me caught, rotten in the dam, too? That boy held me, touch both revoltingly, unavoidably present and numbed into absence, mama could only cry to me, how come adults always scream the quiet part out loud?
