Old Slaughterhouses

Sultry subtleties, of change have surrounded the camp.

Red leaf, blue sky, old slaughterhouses…

Not a one to ask,


Just the stillness of what used to be.

Infatuated with lies.

From one breath to another.

‘What brings you here?’

Only met up with assorted feral cries.

Fashioned by the old.

But surrounded by new.

I opened your journal.

Primarily notes of him and you.

Your resentment discovered itself under penmanship, pencil scrawls…

And, blades of yesteryear grass.

As if you had been the last breath of a life fading too fast.


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