when cavern walls and sandpaper jetties
lose mass and weight, and july fourth
has less value than before, when the graves
of thirty-thousand are just
memories of a hopeful time
i hoped you would write to me
a letter, a single word. crass, unedited
but existent.
when the values we created and the
morals we share disappear i will know
even if you shove it down again
you lied to me
you all lied to me
1 comment:
i thought i was alone in my devotion to teenage angst
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