this point i reach where i
no longer love anything or anyone
these ideas that were supposed to matter
not the house on fire but the man inside
the child asleep and
the mother driving away and
do we really need to have our faces
pressed into the blood
and the filth?
no
but we deserve it
i remember you wearing your
faith like a corpse
i remember your hands and your mouth
a sunlit room on the
edge of town and the sky like it
knew it would outlive us
the certainty that
mistakes had been made
that none of us were beautiful
none of us worth saving
broken glass everywhere
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