flanked by the black and the white
lost in fog of grays
living in the shadow of absolutes

In a black chair that doesn't belong to me

the fan pushes a heavy sallow heat

it is like trying to draw breathes

with the weight of the worlds problems

sitting on your lungs

shallow short gasps

people will die and so will you

fight till you die

or sleep till you die

there is nothing

but what you you have made

and what you have made is nothing