raw_materials

He says the weight of it all...
It pins him to the ground,
At the back of his neck,
His chin in the dirt...
His sholders brused with dried blood...
His arms spralled out and crippeled...
His body...this dust covered shadow struggeling to get up...
Slowly... this increasing pressure
Cutting off the circulation
Cutting off the breath
Cutting off the thought

It holds him there and It holds him there waiting for the next move...

And ironically there is only one move left to be made...

But unfortunetley he has no clue that this move even exists,
Let alone how to use or even recognize that this could even be an option...


You see... for him... Hope is this stranger he has yet to meet...

As the suffocating dust spirals around him....