The memory is softly gritty
Like fog is to eyes
Staring blankly across my wooden floor
Sucking inspiration out of (her)
Anything, really
The etched flower patterns on a bowl
In the corner
Of, what might as well be soul, mine.
But the summer was sweet, (like once was someone I knew)
Warm air off cooling asphalt, making my curtains dance
Such a simple dance (really just a step or two)
So inane a memory, why is it so dear
(why is everything, in here)
such a pretty girl, never felt so good alone
on a gorgeous night, satisfied at home
for once
bastards in their beds with bullets in their heads
that’s how I sang myself to sleep
too crushed to feel sad , I had ground my concrete heart
to dust
I was warm again, if only for a second.
a whole new way to be sad undone,
undone to no one who was anyone.
To you.
Those who saw me die but thought it was art.
To you, nobody.
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