substituting me.
there is the rise, and then the sink.
our breaths falling over us like dew on a tree’s hair.
a war of grenades in our lungs,
our speech is now painted with words we will eventually regret.
if you think about it,
how often do we replace the things we promise never to leave?
everyone is left wondering, wandering;
at a loss but never really lost.
(we are never lost.)
the war rages on,
our backs against walls, holding them up
so that they dont have the pleasure of shattering
around our feet like broken glass.
we will continue to fight,
we will continue to disagree.
but honestly, how often do we replace the things we promise never to leave?
