Soldiers of the night

 Here’s to all the cadets of chaos, to the soldiers of solidarity, to all those who fight for frivolity, we salute you. 

Your young hands stained black, barely visible and yielding instead to the red rubbed skin; the sacrifice for admittance into the underworld where morality vanishes and kindness is confused with pleasure. 

Mirrors captured on devices small enough to rest inside the tightest fitting denim, vast enough to fill a world of sinister stares. 

What does the mirror see? What does it observe from its place on the bathroom wall?


Children taking poison into their bellies until their still developing bodies revolt, throwing up fire, spraying the walls and toilets and waste bins. 

People looking into their own eyes with shame, and disdain and regret. 

Some shedding tears for times before they became soldiers of the night. 

The mirror. Cold, careless of morality, or virtue. Regardless of pain or pleasure. It’s face marred with sharpie, and lipstick, and human essences. 

Let us salute all those who will go into the house of darkness one final time. When your cold hands lie still and your silent form lay upon the alter of steel. 

Let us remember you, child of calamity. Let us remember you well.

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