culture

Anoxia

Clarence Giles

Mar 3, 1966 — 1 min read

Soaring in high above the concrete pathways, watching the devices of smoke and smog poison the skies.

Cutting through toxic clouds of sulphur and ozone, always thinking that there will be a break soon in the stratosphere, allowing me to breathe and see again. To let the insects become once again, the natural prey of their airborne predators.

Windswept and dizzying are my thoughts. My face has an absurd expression chiseled in, and my personality takes on a giddy nature.

I never wanted to be here, but now that I’m here, I don’t want to leave.

Floating away and thinking I’m happy, but I’M not.

I’m dying.

C.R.G.

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