Micro Stories

bliss isn’t ignorant

they took his hand out of mine. with hired hands that slunk through the windows and carved their hooks into his flesh, dragging him out before he could wake. they left him in the emptiness, riding away in their ivory chariots and stolen boots. thinking he’d fall into the darkness they set as a trap, lynching his options and blinding his way.

their chosen ignorance is their death.

covering their ears and playing mute. they dance without their feet and sing without their lungs. playing pretend and asking for credit for all they’ve gathered off the backs of those they’ve enslaved.

decay is their speech and the dying are their young ones.

they don’t know that he is mine, a creature of the darkness, so very well acquainted with the lonely nights of life, stripped of the sunlight owed.

he finds his way back me to easily, as i sit on a throne of burnt ashes turned to stone.



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