I catch monsters.
They gesture in the confines of 8 mm film, screaming at the camera lens. Their mouths gaped, finger-pointing, accusing, in your face.
Their faces can’t find their truths rendered mute by the words they weave. In my prison, they don’t speak but their lips mimic the action.
Black & white, sepia & color.
They exist in all forms. There’s one in every age.
The thing that shakes me to my core when I take in their faces.
They look like mine. Not exactly like mine but they have similar shapes.
Eyes. Mouth. Nose. Teeth.
The same but different.
I can see the monster in me as I do in them.
Their monstrosity resonating with the stranger in us all.
I swallow to bile in me, raise my weapon, & let the monsters roll in.