Starting backwards
every chance
takes us
here
our dreams
were not enough
Nor were
the suppression
of our feelings
the rise of
our impulse
the constant
challenge of
deception-
-self decay
our desire to
sit above at
the end, you and me
senseless gargoyles
starring at the
still-present
holding our
marble hands
together
while the wound
we share
tears us apart
with a piece of each
other
carved with
flesh
hanging out
the frame at our
living room
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