There is someone else’s pennies
On my floor and contact lenses
In my trash bin and crumpled
Ticket stubs next to my bed.
My hands do not want to throw
Them away because hell,
Humanity in its smallest form
Deserves to be behind glass,
Not in a landfill.
I do not want to say humans
Can be reduced to the pennies
They carelessly throw onto the
Street, but I’m not saying
They can’t be.
High-speed photographs of ink mixing with water by Alberto Seveso
“Malignant.”
There’s something about that word. Without fail, that word drives a stake through hope. You say that word to someone and you watch as the light leaves their eyes and their face falls. It provokes helplessness, rage, anguish, loss, speechlessness.
I was having a completely ordinary day up until I heard that one word.
All too often, as I learned today, this word is followed by another.
“Terminal.”