It’s all burnt down now
and it hurts there
rubbish, rubble, dust with a tree’s memory
but it was once a big, beautiful story
with big, beautiful people,
humming dynamic and bittersweet melodies
and a half-assed moral
inserted because it needed a bow
and you needed a purpose.
But now, its gone and there’s room for more
all the oxygen dripped right out of your eyeballs
and the music is dialogue now
in some short film somewhere
with your name stylistically, perhaps modestly, kissing the screen
with those big beautiful people
even bigger now
and those burnt down trees
painted over
there’s room for more now
but it’s oxygen depraved there
and still toxic
and there’s noticeably-lit ash everywhere you look
and, darling, you’re drowning in it-
and you’re suffocating with all this heat,
i know,
but it’s time to start again
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