All Day Headache

Posted: June 22, 2012 in Uncategorized

At some point, the air becomes so thick with dust that it’s more like dust with pockets of air in it. The paper mask filters the most important stuff out, but it’s hard to remember what country air tastes like anymore after digging down beneath this city long enough. Picking through crumbled concrete and rebar, wood, smoke, ash. The remains of a people I once belonged to made into a topsoil that grows no flora, bears no fruit.

Eventually I can go back to my home, be it tent or abandoned store, depending on how deep I’m going, how promising the journey is to pull some sign of life out of these ruins. Failure is exponentially more present than any kind of successes, but no matter what happens my hands go grey, and my lungs line with the same dust that fills all spaces inside of these city limits.

Once, people lived here. Once, I lived here. Now I just go through the motions, chasing some pot of gold and digging down through layers of death and decay. Just reaching my hand into the earth looking for someone to grab onto my wrist and be pulled out to take my place looking for their own replacement.



Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s