In this Context







nothing matters anymore

not even the red shiny ink that flows from the tapestry that was once my oily dark skin

not even the sparks of shelling that rain down around my person

flinging flecks of industry grade concrete

what was was the name of that company again? the one uncle worked at

shrapnell cement factory?



haha, how fickle the mind can get, in this context

feet scatter, wounds splatter but this insignificant nagging desire to recall a relations place of employment

slowly and surely I can feel the texture coat my swollen tongue

you know, that iron taste amalgamated with a thick layer of persistent dust

industrial grade dust

a war of the minds, turned into a war for souls, turned into a war for lives

who’s covering this?

surely such a momentous passing of an idiot caught in a turmoil of no concern to him cannot go unnoticed

an international press vest lies inches away

i reach, fiddling around with the gun powder coated straps embelished with dark unsightly stains

where is the life that once filled these sleeves?

down the street corner perhaps,

lying in a similar mess, bleeding life gradually eerily similar to that sloth like sweaty moment of conception that created it

perhaps lying on a king sized double foam mattress, five star hotel to boot in Buenos Aires

biding the time while the world waits zealously to bestow upon him recognition for his journalistic efforts

maybe he’s lying on a psychiatrists couch, clinical madness in tow, industry ‘regulated’ medication at the ready

slowly painstakingly narrating the blood curling verbally unrelatable events of intangible chaos

a war of the minds, turned into a war of egos, turned into a war of oligarchs unseen


that vest seems eerily familiar

I see a child, christ I see a child

delicately engineered biological machinery splayed arms length away


man I hope no one finds that steak I hid at the back of the fridge

with the last breath I chuckle

fickle it would seem

in this context


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