a long time.
it is too much for one man to carry. too many numbers and names and faces. all that dark, all that cold.
i watched too long this struggle, stood idle by and let them break him apart. and nights fell and moons rose, as he did, and carried on. how many pieces i wonder, did he leave behind. of himself, of course, to lighten the load, he gave up little pieces of himself. and carried on. so much strength in his little arms, so much fire in his eyes. in all that cold. and the spraypaint passed him at record pace, bridges and overpasses. he fell on a tuesday, alone and aware that he was alone. and died silent and fearless, and full to the brim with anything but regret.
they stepped over him, around him. they did not look. he was not the same as them.
i watched too long this struggle, stood idle by and let them break him apart. and nights fell and moons rose, as he did, and carried on. how many pieces i wonder, did he leave behind. of himself, of course, to lighten the load, he gave up little pieces of himself. and carried on. so much strength in his little arms, so much fire in his eyes. in all that cold. and the spraypaint passed him at record pace, bridges and overpasses. he fell on a tuesday, alone and aware that he was alone. and died silent and fearless, and full to the brim with anything but regret.
they stepped over him, around him. they did not look. he was not the same as them.