Every dead fly
Crushed beneath your feet
Splintered into the sole
Limbs dragging along the floor.
I’m watching you as I observe this
As I write this
You’re nice but cruel
Explaining your troubles.
Only you make the simplest things
Burst with malice
And I feel sorry for you
That you have to receive my invisible
Cruelty.
You’re still wearing those shoes
And the fly is still on the floor
Like a butterfly.
Would this life taking influence
The future
Holds my tired voice
Barely reciprocating your speech.
And replying just for nothings
But genuinely receiving and
Reaching out to you
That happens often.
Just those cruel moments are so few yet
So impactful
They switch my entire view
Spin it to see your red air.