Awaiting prosecution

It is with a hopeless courage that we
emerge into the streets. No more half-
believed fabrications or plush deceits
since the ego pimps were unmasked.
Instead, a raw outlook, unvarnished,
a fearlessness born of cheap rum and
the loss of all that gave us meaning.
Jostling, we mouth absurdities to one
another as we move steadily forward;
the regular unliving, parodies of all we
were promised. Expectations toppled;
inverted and formed into weapons.
Anger has burned away all that kept us
pliable; with nothing else left, we are
dynamite to their rubble, a searing
inferno to their ashes. The momentary
sense of purity reminds me of the life I
had once thought I lived, an imaginary
existence of falsehoods piled onto lies.
The red mist re-descends and I’m gone.


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