Knowing words mean nothing, I took you at your's alone. The burdens come whole and unsorted, the prize a dream in a dream. Now the world wears slow against me, grinding away all of what I thought. Now hope is out the window, your heart just what it seems.
They fill the air like animals roused for a long delayed meal, these bright stars and last stars. The slick way these fictions have crept into each reckoning, stories that no living soul has witnessed passed down like any shared vacancy, a light left on for moths alone. The nation slides along these sick minds and slick tongues, every fool known by that comic look of sheer surprise. These hopes take wing so I will take the dive. I hit the mat harder, knowing the only holding I have by how fast I fall.
There is no trust in knowing the world. There are patient recitations in every place and way. You can only follow the line so far, and then it is always who knows. I took you as your story when all you ever told me was in your stay. Now I have again earned this sadness, to have believed so easily in things that could never be true.
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