I like to wake sleeping memories long since buried
Because I love hearing their screams again, and again.
The screams of tormentors — would-be victims clinging.
Clinging to the assumption of ever being more than.
I like the way the ethereal dirt marinates their spirits
Buries them — Bit by bit, grain by grain,
Until the forming heap makes what we could barely see before
Nothing more, than an aggregate for a slippery road.
I promise I’m not evil. I just have a firm line.
No matter how tempting, don’t cross it.
In the past, some have often mistaken it as a means to win
Upon crossing the threshold, expressing their “victory”
They have somehow always found a way
To get tangled — strangled to death by that alluring line.
And I just watch; waiting until it’s done.
… What, don’t look at me …
It’s rude to interrupt a celebration.
– O.D. ©2022
Art by: ArthurHenri
I don’t go out of my way to teach anyone a lesson. No, they teach themselves.