Poetry from Brianna Dawn.

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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