of grated skin,
the shavings of a body
Weakened
Speckled in dust…
The brimming of an earth
Charged and electrified,
By the deaths of children
and the cries of mothers
I am reminded
that I must return to this
Be torn down
Burnt up
Thrown aside
Built back
Shattered
Ruined
and Rebuilt
What is this cold
But the chill of spirits sent to die
Mocked and unprotected—
Bones grated into sand
Sparked and flitted into the wind
You must consume this
It is what you wanted
It is what you wanted
Do . Not. Run.