The Outsiders


At night we’d catch a ride.  Trails of smoke exhaled; dissonance our driver. A stadium of sadness our destination.  A place of rest blanketed by shattered mirrors and the unhidden.  “I” in the shadows.  Shackled by the birth of truths not ready to be held.

Someday she’ll ask.
Someday I’ll answer.

For now we walk. Her collapse, raptured by unidentifiable emotion, engulfed by seas of wheat lit up by the moon.  Piercing silence robbed by the quickening heaves of her chest.  The glow of deadened red tears.  Her breath lost to a mystery of voices, a crowd of enraged waiters; stealers of life.

Empty chairs in the moonlight, unseen to all but those for which rest can only be found in their emptiness.  As her thick weighted sobs erupt.

Some day she’ll ask.
Some day I’ll answer.
Some day



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