Guest post by Paige Cooper:
Light seeps through the inner walls of the cracked molded structure, at a time where there are no onlookers; with their fancy pressed suits and charcoal clankers demanding attention every step of the way. No. No one would come by that day, or the next, or the next.
I hear whispering among the trees, the mumbling starts low but now I can tell that whoever it is, not only can’t whisper but also have had too many toddies to boot. Whiskey is the name of the game, bloodshot eyes brings a sunset view, one that occurs regularly. Another lone ranger night as time wisps by, although I can’t fully see the others, I can still feel…them.
Shallow breathing accompanying sweat land-sliding the spine to no return all while praying for freedom from a bound position of uncertainty. “Who Am I?”
