Am travelling
My last kilometer
Before resting
This weary body
I call my own.
Of the hate
And prejudices
I have experienced
Hangs around my neck
Like a millstone.
Where life is
Quickly forgotten
Like tossed litter.
And yet
People are obvious
To the mounting carnage.
Eugenic horrors
That spread
Across the land
Like dandelion seeds
On the prevailing winds.
Out of sight
Out of mind.
Numbness grows
Filling one's soul
With a political cancer
Consuming all
By its presence.
Stumbling
Hands reaches out
For support
That never existed.
Except
In my mind.
For the door handle
With a last grasp
Born of desperation
And mediocrity.
Seeking the sanctity
Of the place
I call home
To heal and restore
My sanity.
Knowing
Silence awaits
When the door opens
Embracing me
In its protection.
Ending this sojourn
In the madness
Called reality.
Therisa © 2019
Author’s note: How the United States looks, as an outsider, looking inwards.
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