Response

Take flight at the first sign of fear.

“Go forth” said the makeshift martyr, “find peace in escape.”

There’s a promise in every promise buried under their cost.

Pay no mind—find comfort in staying lost.


I’ll sit here in this chair with the legs entrenched in gaping holes,

a will to motion and movement decaying.

My back is stitched, made one with the fabric.

Threads run deep and intertwine with my spine,

transforming two into one without a thought to call their own.

Does it even really concern the world when it’s known the land is scorched?


Fires are rising outside of the window,

so stay inside and draw the blinds ever tighter.

This view of ours grows so much narrower,

so stay inside and scream within the chamber.


Feed off the feast of failure portrayed on a daily cycle.

It lingers far from the front porch,

safely secluded in the mind’s comfort,

not once crossing into a dangerous state of being.


I rest circadian-esque on apathy’s perch,

all motivation tucked into a forgotten corner of consciousness.

The bed is a shield against the mounting truth.

I’ll make a coffin out of the sheets,

nailing down the edges to seal inside the strain of care that remained.

It’s far too hot outside these days anyway.

It’s far too painful to believe in a future anyway.


Fires are rising outside of the window,

so stay inside and draw the blinds ever tighter.

This view of ours grows so much narrower,

so stay inside and scream within the chamber.

The screams are rebounding.

( ❤ Mitch)

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