The earth turns, and it rises up over the trees
harmlessly dangling in the black sky – veiled in haze.
(Though I know that the haze is nowhere near it.)
It stares at me and I stare back. A test of wills, I think. But not really.
It owns my ass. And it doesn’t even care. It doesn’t even know I exist
as it draws the blood up tightly into the top of my brain each month –
A torturous affair in which fear and anger stomp around for a few days
shaking the rafters
– dust flying about.
Covering me in haze.
It mocks me, I think. But I know better. It doesn’t even know I’m down here.
I drop my gaze, and walk inside. Where it’s safer.