into the wild.

the fall

it’s not the fall that kills you

it’s the land.

twisted, crumpled.

neck through the skull.

femurs stuffed into your stomach.

your last thought didn’t come fast enough.

regret – too late to slow you down

pause time, apologize.

because the blood bubbling out of your mouth

will never be enough.

your landing

left a dent in the land.

plop.

anger seeps through your pores.

dripping

rolling down your skin.

hot, slimy hate –

gaining momentum

off the crisp angles of your face.

harsh lines, hard fall.

when it all finally drops

plip. plop.

flooding the street

careening into drains,

fueling streams

rivers

lakes.

until it’s raining hate.