The sabers rattle
sending
the torn flesh messages
of the Great Old Ones.

No more apologies
or options for your
angst.

Those particular doors
have closed.

Acceptance of your mindless
discontent,
your dissatisfaction
with what is barely
adversarial,
or
at worst inconvenient
has been deemed
unsafe.

Safety, at this point,
Is not a concern.

Those hollows have been filled;
The floodgates closed,
That river ******.

This space is unsafe for
your need for a safe space.

(This Space for Rent)

Wanton want,
need,
greed,
have no elbow room
here.

This space is taken.

The fist you find
will knuckle the
small of your spine
and smile.
*

-JBClaywell
© P&ZPublications