The Collective Death is Breaking Atlas’ Back.
One day I caught her whispering to her hands. She stopped, eyes meeting mine yet no shame, no panic is taking its broom over her expressions. She meets her hands again and I can only see her silhouette.
One day I walked into his backyard where rope met his neck. His eyes seemed focused on the gate where I am now. His legs have just stopped swaying and he meets dad again.
One day I heard the lightning blaring through your head. All the halos seemed to shape to your forehead that day, but never the wings. Your body doesn’t know upright since you never knew where to go.
One day, Atlas let the earth touch the sky.
