We run across the tracks,
A horde of desperate children.
Our tears are raked off our cheeks
By the wind that slams into our faces.

Crouching, cowering, gritting our teeth,
A fruitless attempt to make ourselves smaller,
To dodge the never-ending stream
Of lead teeth that eat into our flesh.

Gripping the clammy fingers
Of our only hope,
Until they are pummelled into the floor,
And we leave them behind.

We live to impress,
We walk a tightrope every day.
God help you if you fall,
Because you are on your own.

They’ll only hold your hand
If there is something in it.
They don’t love you,
So just keep running.

Running, running,
Stretch out your fingers,
To the other side.
Because when you fail…

Well at least you can say
one part of you made it…
Right?

Scabs crusting;
Feet wrinkle
with an unrelenting
wetness
in cold socks.

The soldier walks
reaching the point
of contact,
a swift interlude
of gorilla combat.

After the gun fight
he collects
small bullet casings.

Then when silence
finally comes at night
he takes them out,
rolling them
through and around
his fingers.

Various
colored casings
of memories chasing
each potential
point of pain;
He imagines
the cycle of sorrow
that each projectile
might have injected
into this world.

Then the soldier
buries the bullet casings
and
finally, leaves the battlefield.

the world doesn’t feel the same anymore
these past few years the air has slowly been tinted black
thickening, viscous and sour around our bones
breaking the ones below and leaving some of us to watch helpless
waiting for the air to rise
although somehow
coming from above
bullets shot in the dark didn’t make much sound
until finally youthful
tear stained faces
pulled the bullets up into clear air in their grasps and observed what we’ve become
with a clarity none of us knew
a clarity none of those people know
them with the black tinted air flowing from their mouths
becoming more sour, and more heavy with each breath, each utterance
each denial
they make
youthful faces with words far stronger than bullets

aimed at those who exhale black

the world is different now
we all felt like dissolving in the despair
instead
fortified by it

i join hands with my peers and we climb up above the earth
fight our way up
to the artificial atmosphere
and we throw our fists at the oppressive black film surrounding the earth
we hurl our bodies into it
we scream
we cry

we cra c k it open

one inch at a time

A boy goes to school

And tears his schoolmates apart

With metal piercing bullets

This is normal now.


Igor Goldkind