The Last Forenoon

The last forenoon It was Sunday I was sitting peacefully at my desk when an interior storm burst knocked off me off my chair I witnessed machine gun fire hitting a wall just above my head I was covered in dust like powdered dandy and I thought, here we go first torture than a bullet. The put an oxygen over my face a wounded soldiers going home after losing yet another battle. I was born again and could remember the constant battle the never- ending war of my phobias, Eight floors up, one lifetime is enough, but the soldier could not break glass puny his hands weak his arms. Yes I’m home but my smile is a Janus mask I cast no shadows on the wall like the living do.