happy 4th

Winged and terrible
The vulture swoops
And devours
Leaving only a few remnants behind

The bones pull and break
The flesh stretches and tears
And the eyes become milky
And encapsulate the universe

The victim, his only question:
“Where is my mind?”

Because this is where it’s different.
This is the point in which the prey stops running
And the hunter stops hunting.
This is the segment in which hope is lost,
Never to be found.
Where the target hoists himself onto the board
Praying the first shot is it.

Today, right now
in the early hours of the morning
It is.