Two walkers on a road dirty.
Mud stained faces and an anguish.
Pools of machete droppings hover to the ground.
Break a silence down and march to the rhythm of the road.
Leather straps hold up all the pieces of places they've been.
They smell of smoke and blood to which neither belonged.
A perjured glance across a flesh of scars pulls back a set of rounding lips.
Sunglasses didn't keep the light out but the eyes in.
The world is dead it was they killed it.
Lonely disgust pulls at guns and gullets.
No hands held.
No breaths accidental.
Two sets of teeth shine a sunset yellow.
Two long knives grip in one instant, thrust, and loosen the next.
Partners fall into their own pools.
Two sets of teeth shine a sunset yellow.
Two long knives grip in one instant, thrust, and loosen the next.
Partners fall into their own pools.
There's nothing left to build or destroy.
Everything is finally in control.
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