when violent sun falls behind the horizon

when violent sun falls behind the horizon
and cracks appear in your reality of sound
broken windows leave empty spaces and the trees
grow out until there’s nothing left of
the city which you want to regret but can’t bring yourself to

because the grey people in your mind pull you
down to caverns underground artificially lit
they’ve killed the fireflies and now they want to kill you
but you do not let them for they are destroyed
by the knowledge that they do not exist

you’ve made them so
and finally you know to try and find your picture
of a thousand words
disappearing into sands of lost memories and time
you’ll never see again unless you write it down

but still the picture will never be complete
by the time the sun has thrust its barbs up
through the trees on the other side of
spinning lonely earth
you’ve learned to stay away from glass

and write your story into the dirt and into the stone
of the caves where decades will try
to no avail to scratch them away
but the picture is as complete as it needs to be
in your mind

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