Of Rogues.

I went to see Bartley today. And I had to admit, rather grudgingly, that not all of middle school sucked.
Is it sad that one of the hardest A's I've ever made was art class?

A...thing...I wrote during/after Rogue readings at Shades of Brown today. There are parts of it constructed from bits of the conversation. It was weird:

This is a thing –
Wait. Shut up.
Stop serving up death.
This is a thing I need to say.
And can’t.
Too weak, too fog-suffused,
Ambulance-chased,
Mirrored in the setting sun
That I can see behind your eyes.
Black and white lines,
Each word a color picture
With your soul bound in the background.
The holes where the nails rattled out were filled with your tears
Which are only now beginning to evaporate.
Transparent shrouds devour your perspective,
But you’re jumping through hoops,
Seeing through rings of care,
Shiny baubles bought or seized
That you can
Mix and match.
Slip on and off.
Melt down,
To fashion the weapons you’ll use against the next unlucky winner.
Wings flitter hopelessly,
In agony that is not quick, only twisting.
And it’s absurd how fast passion transmutes.