Love is a struggle, so we’ve chosen fear. It is easy. It drips off us like hot butter. We are covered in it. And though it burns and scars us, when it curdles in a puddle beneath our feet, like pigs, we lie on the ground and roll in it. We stink, but it gives us the strength to continue.

Weighted heavy upon my chest, this knowledge overcomes me. The air, thick, is unable to offer any support – oxygen can’t breathe life into a people already given up.

We walk in fear of each other, clinging to our right to exist with a fundamental lack of respect for the existence of others. Our brothers and our sisters are merely incidental creatures, their movements we barely perceive until they get in our way.

Conceiving how one shoots a man down like a mad dog, my eyes turn towards Louisiana, but can’t see through this fog of inevitability – credibility long lost, but we can’t shake that which we’ve chosen to embrace, so with fear, our humanity has been laid to waste.


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