At the fork, I am all in for the impending fight. Destiny, eh?
A tomb that offers
posterity to my right.
A restless struggle that gifts
immortality on my left.
I squat down,
feel the rubble,
knead till I soil my fingers,
and then type out my will.
At the end of it, alas,
I stare at a blank screen,
and a soiled keyboard,
tainted brick red.
At last, my destiny...
The smudges on my
favoured letters, and words strung,
act as its coloured reminder.
— Leslie
(I type words not to fill blank pages, but to redden the pattern of smudges on my laptop keys)
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