Conspirators

I can only tell you that you will never be satisfied with this explanation.

You are looking for a permission-scale.

An absolution.

I am only willing to offer you a truth that sets no one free.

An obligation.

You have not expected.

This invitation,

slid under the door

along the linoleum of your aging kitchen.

My words-

A noxious gas,

A mix of chemicals that grow appendages,

claw open 

your eyes,

sear your nostrils and retinas,

and scorch themselves as cave markings

In your memory.

We are not spared the knowledge.

A duty is ours to accept, always.

But even if the duty is kicked out into the cold winter evening, the door slammed in its face, and the locks fastened in a chilled finality-

The shouts of what we leave outside

will echo.