This is where my
world was born,
everyone’s too. I was too young when it was born to rear it
properly, but hid as it jumped and screamed and broke all my simples. We all
hated ourselves for it. Beyond the fence few workers continue reassembling the
skeleton. The dirty flag was put there. Now, silence stole my friends and I at
this end of pilgrimage. Now the atoms were heavy. A skyscraper of patches stood
for a conspiracy thinker, a solemn air-shooter, a people. I’m failing to not
look at the ground.
Very interesting imagery that evokes strong feelings of helplessness and hopelessness. There is also enough left to the imagination that readers can draw their own interpretations as to what the fence, flag, and patches represent.
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