Prehostoric Suspicions of accusing

Whispers once swarmed the grey beaches of my mind,

Leaving no space

For the lone truth to crawl out of its burrow

In the glistening sands of pulverized neurons.

Suspicions lived and died as concrete realities

Though they were born phantom lies.

Hard, reflective shells,

long, slick,

Rapier-like spike tails.

Christened in the

Red, wet mess

Of my bloody sea.

Until the day

The sky gave way

To the blazing megalith

That would be known

As “Memory.”

Gift from the heavens,

Radiating heart,

Penetrating the cloud rings

Shattering the sound barrier,

To crash into the surface of

That crimson regent.

From the meteor’s simmering pores,

Microbial remnants of an

Alien species,

Flop out, in steaming heaps,

Marking the end of the Era.

This was the birth of a

New breed of Suspicions.

That I was loved.

And missed.

And even celebrated,

By the ones whom

I most care for.

These are the Suspicions we must

Spread across the wilds

Of our hallowed spheres.

These are the Suspicions

We must feed.

That we are loved.

Breed the Alien Suspicion

Scratching at the back of your mind.

The one that hisses

“You are loved.

You are missed.

You are celebrated.”

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