a perfect mud

no one ever talks
about the grief and blood
of heartbreak, loneliness,
and existence left
dark and covered in ash,
after war or violence;
but everyone walks – no runs,
when that grief or blood
becomes the perfect mud
to craft arrows to cast at
politicians, we care less
about pain,
and focus more on the
cruelest way to judge

__
written by Tiny Fawns for daily prompt: mushroom

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