Red Flag

Some part of him tore its robes, some other part stitched them together. Don't say he is awkwardly made he had to get dressed in the dark. He eats boneless words, stays inside himself painting eyes on closed shells. It is another torrential morning that he must plunged through. The world is stampeding over him and he trembles under its heavy hooves. Today or tomorrow his head will crack open, a pustule of self-hatred erupt, and a slavering beast will emerge to gun down what he cannot love.