Wildes Writing

Tim Wildes

In this action I make a respiratory tick, thoughtless to myself, but myself alone.

Each breath I take is time wasted in their machine – the machine that builds armies and tears families down into waste.

This machine exploits my work to then dictate I cannot afford bread this week, maybe the next.

This machine removes my right to bear child –

takes shelter from my kin –

that means I sacrifice my beloved for prestige and merit.

This machine has taught me to fear the people designated to protect, for some-

the empire never died – the empire never ended.

This empire is the lifeblood of the machine that means I must fear my neighbor – that shallows my family an expense to my own worth.

The machine that melts my humanity to an afterthought.

My being is a cog – thoughtless to my appointed superiors, likened to my own breath.