a man,
murder in his eyes
so sick
of breathing
the lies.

for all the things that we are,
it is the things
that we are not,
that he is not,
which make him sick.

he couldn't drink enough,
sleep enough,
shoot enough,
build a big enough wall
to escape it all.

[watching them]
hand over fist,
pouring out of public markets
like blood
from a slit throat.

purging
hording
clensing
pushing
shoving

time.
it was time to move on
with nowhere to go...

click. bang.

NB @ 8:46 AM

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