we speak in xeroxes.
a similar perplexity,
a different day.
these equasions,
trite and obvious,
held effectiveness.
your words were fingernails,
my ears the chalkboard.
i just got tired of watching, waiting for the dust to settle.
the gun didn't sound like i thought it would.
outside looking in, everything went in slow motion.
it spoke.
righteous. loud. raceless. faceless. quick.
it spoke, i listened:
it's over.
bang.
a desperate, unlucky place.
the
white light
hot nightmare
you can't wake from.
walking among the stench,
humanity's low tide.
old structures painted over,
but never truly clean.
like coating a piece of rotting flesh
would keep it from going rancid...
a beautiful face can save--has saved--all of this..
the lie
i
tell
myself
every
day
laughs
[hope dies here]
