I Was Always Controlled

Road-ice, a grip unforgiving and brainless holds him down to the tire-ruts . The teenage pistol held in a teenage hand, unexpertly aimed, a shrieking tongue took off his ear.  Shocked, bloody, he fell.  Disgusted to the point of numbness, the soldiers bit off more vodka and hollowed themselves out another degree, turning their frozen toes east to the fire.

Underneath the time, underneath the smoke, underneath the layers of injustice, dreams.

Text and Images © Andrew Auten – All Rights Reserved