it depends on the day
mostly you're among the dust behind my bed
but occasionally,
and only occasionally
i will accidentally sweep you up with my dust pan, and examine you finely
your gravel filled ashes soak into my fingertips and i have no choice but to remember
it's funny, what you did, because it might not be considered all that horrible, maybe you're not even the villain
but i know much better, and god, you're a talented puppeteer i'll certainly give you that
you taught them to follow you, mindlessly, because you're meek, truly, and the meek have to hide behind orders
you acted as if your pain was a gun compared to mine, a knife
but god were you wrong.
because you only knew the tip of a foam sword.
i can't believe i used to admire you. i used to think you were absolutely ethereal. we certainly are meant to have tangled strings of destiny, you know that, i know it just as well.
you dyed your hair, i wont lie, it's nice. it will only add to your false sense of reality.
i've thought long and hard about it, and really i'd give anything to dig my knuckles into your cheek.
but i think i'd also like to hug you and redo it all, believe you aren't as selfish as i believe.
but then again, aren't bruised knuckles just so aesthetic.
evidently, we all are nothing.
with this, i peel the skin off my fingers, ripping your ashes from my bones.
i sweep you away to become another dust bunny, for another day.
have a wonderful night, townie
