Write a fable write fables
to the order of things, to broken commitments
to bullshit owned & operated by yourself
to her kissed hands, to eyes shut on second chances
write of waking moments, what should have been
to blurs, to fractions of the whole, of what was
to the residue left by sex, 1,000 pages of sweat
to spotlights keyed-up, new mistakes made in the dark
write of walls sketched with crossed-out words
to the inner self, to the outside looking in
to those who want, to those who need
to those who died, to those you’d die for
write of them.
I guess it’s a lot, yeah.
A lot to ask.
But it’s all there is.
Maybe all there ever was.