This is a blog post from
*
We fight over death
like starving mongrels,
gnawing it to the bone;
gorged on rancid memories
we vomit our hate.
We are blind pallbearers
carrying the truth in a shroud
wiping our bloodstained hands
on each other’s wounds
while we whisper:
‘This is Kali Yuga
this is the last age
this is our last chance
before our shredded hearts fall
between the bars of our cage.’
We mourn everyone else, but
we stumble over our own corpses
littered on the cold stone floor;
we think we hear breath flooding in
when our souls have flown out the door.
*
