The distribution of foreign anger or vengeance
sweeps the grounds of poisoned millennials.
As things go, the miniscule amount of two grains of salt
can be so boundlessly lethal anymore.
Not only the unknown I mourn,
while of course they're equally as afflictive,
but to a cousin who left behind an entire family
of already broken souls -
or to a peer who became unresponsive at that square table
and surrounded by adolescence
with a froth at her lips.
The poison spreads quietly, yet, so rapidly
as if a hurricane was rushing through the streets
sweeping up every tent or carcass along the way.
Bodies drop with a greenish color, maybe even blue at times
like the millions of grievous tears shed by blood and affinity
and with each ripple -
a pain in my abdomen
as if my stomach were eating itself alive...
and always right before I close my eyes in the darkness
left wondering constant thoughts
of eradicating the poison who steals the breath
of not only my compatriots,
but my kin.