On and on

You made me learn that I took “friend” too seriously. Didn’t realize it’d make me the chaff. Didn’t know I’d get blown away in the wind when it blew across your summer skin. Oh, but that’s just the way it is. I can waste time saying “I hate it”, but why bother?

Moments shone bright like they were stolen secrets we shouldn’t be allowed. We were children sneaking treats. We were rebels stealing lights from the main streets of this town. We burned it up. Paper, plastic, or charcoal — it didn’t matter much.

Scars bled black ink down our skin and stain pictures on the walls. Reminded us why we’re here and what a mess we’re all in. And do we think we’ll change the seasons because we don’t like a few of them?

Death and life is just a wheel, and you know I know that. But nobody likes it when the wheels turn and it’s you and I that get twisted up in the spokes. Like we weren’t as far in the center as we thought. Like when we held hands and said things we meant, it meant nothing to the wind. Nothing to the ghosts that drive change. Nothing to the causational vibrations of the universe.

It’s probably true, but I still consider you and the universe my friends. If that means I’ll get screwed again? Ah well, so it goes.


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