just 'cause an old dog comes back don't mean ya feed it

Orchestral fury of violent sadness

piercing down to the blood.

(sharp searing violin notes)

(chaotic violet stirrings)

chasing as the wind chases

moaning as the old moan

I stand cold and blind on the edge of this inkpool I used to lie in-

I stand shivering against a history still roaring for recognition-

Floating in, barely perceivable,

wisps of gray smoke creeping under the door.

I can smell the sadness before I feel it.