The They

It's been a long time since I posted, or wrote for that matter. I hope this is good.

As if they can’t hear our spines tingling, our hearts pounding and our eyes popping out of our heads from the sheer f*****g pressure of vision? Ask them what they think. Look into the dark of night circling you as you sit on your porch and smoke like your life depends on it, look and see what their eyes tell you. Search for a trusting pair of lights only to find nothing but the sound of leaf crunching teeth. My hands are tissue paper, crumpled fists dissolve into apparitions. Every sigh is blue like the flame of a gas lit stove, a soft burning chemical leaves my lungs to breathe. There they are. The They. The deer, I guess.