a house of glass,

throwing boulders

the windows smashed

realizing now, the roof

was the first to crack

two hands

clench furious fists,

submitted to silence.

we were nomadic,

spiraling manic

concussed by

every pass

of traffic

do you wonder,

how I came to be?

slaved to fight for you,

you

for you were all

I could see.

now I am much like

a pistol supressor,

a tragedy under pressure.

coping with

apathetic endeavors.

nomadic1.jpg

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