By Bitter Work

I'll not waste feelings here, potential readers don't need pockets filled with trauma that doesn't belong to them. Suffice to say, today has been...odd.

So, we'll discuss work. My work. Our work. On the world, on our lives. Suffice to say, and I'll say that no more, it seems like an arduous task. An impossible task, to change, to evolve as human beings and as creatures compelled to create.

What are my creations?

Well, they're skeletons. But they mean more to me than a display of Shakespeare's rotting bones. No, no, they're much more.

These skeletons are an extension of mankind. Beneath all the artificiality and exploitation of the flesh, they lie in wait. They show the truth beneath the facade, the dim light behind the massed shadows, the unsettling thoughts and feelings we seek to hide from others, and from ourselves.

Ah, bleached white relics. I'm not quite sure why I admire them so much, maybe it's their foundational nature, maybe I'm crazy.

And honestly, it's probably both. And honestly, I'm alright with that.

And again, to you, a good day, a bad night, whatever you wish.

Probably.

They were naught but vessels
Those contemporaries of our time
Lead filled
Bile filled
Based and grown in muddy waters
An informal torrent
Of bitter, dirty rain
Perhaps compelling in its pelting
Its cold searing
Its displacement upon the whole world

Atoms and cells alike

Swelling us
In the nature of driftwood, bodies
Mildew

Dread