"nigga good, b"

on a rooftop
the weight of the world
crashes down igniting everything into flames.
the night's sky
is painted orange red yellow
giving spectators a show
in the wake of a tragedy.
with everying
it ended
and people move to the next thing
but the story continues
it always continues
from the ashes
a figure emerges
alone
he surveys the damage
allows the situation to sink in.
he tries to reconstruct the surroundings
but only partial memories remain
he tucks them in a pocket riddled with holes.
the weather doesn't matter
it could be a sunny day
and to him
it would be the same as a thunderstorm.
in a time
where the council should be called
he keeps to himself
holds on to the remnants
knowing it doesn't exist.
time will heal the burns
and as one turns into another
strength will hold vulnerability together.
he sees the beauty in the pain.

someone will eventually ask
and he will semi-gloss the situation
leaving hints to negate follow ups
and when asked how he feels
only four syllables leave his mouth.