Some day a meat cleaver will be put to work on your very core. You won’t see it but it’ll all be there – blood, shattered bones, flesh hanging loose from big ugly wounds of your soul. That used to be a person before, you’d think. Now it’s just a gooey lump in red, white and purple blue. Splattered across surfaces like a Jackson Pollock painting.The inside is all outside, and all over the walls, and floors. Clinging to curtains, hanging on to coffee tables, creating strange patterns on the dirty carpet marked by heavy footprints. Barely recognizable as human in its new form or spatial arrangement. And you’d stand there amidst the pieces like a ghost while a tiny voice inside your head will ask in mock amusement, “Anyone you know?” Curiosity is limitless. Concern not so. Some day it’ll help you to remember that.
