Unapproachable
I’m an unopenable door waiting to be cracked open, exposed to the natural but
yet fresh humanity. Such an infinitesimal amount of air escapes through the
cracks, just taunting me. Showing what I can’t have, but giving me such small
doses it taunts me. When will that key be discovered, and open a concrete wall in
front of me. The bleak amounts of light only omit pure injustice. Give me what I
want. It’s not there, the figure, the human being that will be that discoverer. This
absence of light is eating away at my flesh; everything needs light, pure light, to
live. For this just erodes my skin, until it drips to the floor, of an ungoverned
society. A society so weak it won’t even be governed. A society so weak, that it will
not provide for its fellow parts. My society won’t allow this to happen anymore.
The brain in my head throbs from a recollection of what is to come, pure
excitement, and pure hesitation. The anticipation accumulates, which rubs the
society against the blades of a democracy. Bring yourself forward, and try your
key into a rusted lock.
Copyright © Carl Craighead | Year Posted 2007
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