in my feed

I slept in peace whilst they killed another ninety innocents using weapons my tax has funded. a refugee camp this time. the figures have stopped shocking me, which is scary in itself. it is normal to see images of dead children on my phone. they live in my feed between targeted ads and the posed candids of people I used to know. I am no longer surprised by the gore. lost limbs and heads bleeding onto the pavement. mothers weeping over the remains of their children in the apocalyptic remains of a city they’d called home. dog videos and throwbacks. progress pics and new haircuts. someone in America tried to shoot a rapist. there will be more said about this in the weeks to come than we’ve heard about the 180 thousand innocents massacred at the hands of the white Western bloc since October. I bottle my anger and try to understand why we remain silent in the face of everything we’re taught is wrong.

at the rally we wore black and painted our hands red to honour the martyrs. we marched through the streets and the crowds gathered, looking on silently. some took photos or filmed. others looked away. there is always an easier path to take. I saw the ghost again. we nearly brushed shoulders in the current of people marching. on the phone to a friend I saw them once more across the same street as last night. I wonder if they saw me and I hate that I care. 

I think about tomorrow and how every Monday rolls into chaos right now. it’s a deep breath and tumble until Friday afternoon spits me out in a state too tired to write or think seriously about pretty much anything. this is what we work for. there could be more and maybe I’ll see the path clearer in time. I’m just not quite there yet.