A year of living dangerously, in an aftermath of ghosts…contemptible sprites.
Obliged shadows in my path.
Yelling, pointing, transfixed on…the disappointment.
I am just a child with a hand upon the hot stove.
Upheld as the deviant…never doing as, told.
Perpetually trespassing to abandoned places…
forging into haunted cold cases…
awaiting the critical scold.
Conversely, ‘what have you done?’
Shouting the paint off the walls.
Incarceration by itself…to place left to go.
Survival in the aftermath, after all.
Is survival in the after math…after all.