Hello!
I moved from down south a few months ago and I'm having a hard time getting offers for jobs currently. I have about 5yrs experience in various environments and have a big concern for safe job conditions, which I hear is better here.
Any advice?
In and out of black wave hues,
no hope for it to be the last light
It's far from it.
The lights dot in stars above,
even Mars can shine bright in a never ending night.
So do the waves break against brick walls, letters hanging from its edge:
"W E A R H O U S E
D I S T R "
The last two letters fell off, and mortar slips out its cracks, bleeding. Hurting.
so was the thrumming of over head powerlines, contorted, thick, and packed tightly.
Jostling meant its coming, again, yet again.
But no where near the end.
To which I tread, do I leave my own ripples.
A buzzing comes nearer.
And I see over.
A face, white, poreless, pure, a young man, a grin rested on closed lips. Hair dark and misty.
Peering out at me from behind the branches of a nearby tree.
There's something wrong with his neck,
His body is elevated, dangling,
limbs elongated.
Raised by intestines that pour out from his bowels,
acting as its advocate,
through a broken pelvis.
Sanking through branches, even more of its form, becomes apparent.
We all know the buzzing, and we all hate it, a swat at it.
Just over the shoulder, across his back,
bites
bites
bites
papules sprout bloody mosquito wings that stretch high unending
And its thrumming humming rippling .
Mimicking what calls us all ,
to a river's forefall .
And they'd say,
only the women bite.
They've never come down here
to where the storms don't care about the before .
We're stuck in the whirl.
And the smell makes me want to hurl.
A grin elongates, a jaw unhinges, and a tendril barbed at the end, looks for a new friend.
I wont be saved by road rage,
The water is already taking me, bit by bit -
I leave a trail behind me, nice and bloody.
For once I prayed, deep inside, as I run and hide-
- That'd caterpillar I so despise -
- would come find me.
So it might take my place, instead.
Maybe then it'd be dead.
But there is no hope or dream that comes up from that stream,
For all rivers lead somewhere
It flows not matter who cares or not
My heels exposed skin get me running again,
as a splinter hits my shoulder
and I crawl into a corner, the waters submerging my body more
To stay cold
As its body crawls along bleeding brick and wood.
Tasting for once where I was.