sludge raze this is a thing that's dying or already dead. a squirrel crushed by a speeding car. a rat ripped apart by a hungry hawk's bladed beak. a skunk stilled by starvation or a graceless fistfight with the elements. some small bird unburdened of all the breath its rigid lungs once held. a heart made to hate in the last leg of its unraveling. this is what happens when life fails to find a way to guard the frail flame that knows its name. halving the distance between your eyes and the object nowhere near your size tells you it's only dirt and snow clumped into the kind of concern that eats away at all you believe to be true. you kick it with one half-frozen foot until it's little more than a muddy mirror that doesn't recognize your face. 260205 what's it to you? who go blather from