It’s a crisis, but I can count on the people I never speak of. I can lean on the invisible shoulders and I can breathe in this poison like air. This aura of hatred and disease, the people I looked upon softly are now rougher than the serrated blades grazing by the newest victim. This choke-hold of silence. This collar of electricity bolting through tearing veins of past blue, seemingly red. Everybody is shot down, shot like kryptonite crystals absorbing around the last remaining fortress of Superman. This is a crisis and somebody is going to die, kill or be killed. A layer of roaring rage and coasting calm. Today was the day that I realized the barrel of this magnum was aimed at me.
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