Tension building like a coil about to spring.
Proverbial spasms riddle collective consciousness.
Something just isn't right.
Nightmares every night,
Waking up drenched in acrid sweat.
With a heavy heart,
Sighing in poignant unison.
Leaders come and gone.
Ephemeral memories of empowerment held in our hands,
Hearts,
Minds,
Voices.
Now it's time to speak.
Si se puede!
She's ready.
Ready to shake us off like a case of bad fleas.
There are those of us who can sing,
Who can feel,
Who know.
Time is of the essence.
Sands slipping between the unforgiving fingers of time.
This isn't a game.
Chilling grip encroaches upon delicate, succulently vascular cavernous lungs.
Bags filled with arbitrary gasses, flesh and blood.
Unsuspecting with each capricious breath.
Chemical exchanges between paper-thin tissues.
Engorged.
Pink with of red and blue tinges- like a ruby or a rose petal,
So perfect you could just...
Tear it up.
Balarama Heller
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