we wear our ease
comfortably.
carve your name into
the table, your memory
etched in wood.
this distaste taints the flavor of life.
the sound of your voice
a ghost
born from life.
assembling meaning
from nothing
the faint moan
of pain or
ecstasy.
all these broken pieces
looking to fit together
once more.
this saint doesn't care
about your sins.
I could
stare into the eyes
of the goddess
endlessly.
from where
to here.
All these pieces
hoping for meaning.
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