this is a city in which we never grow, we only witherMature

We gather our sorrows like wild flowers,
offer them to others like apologies,
remember in the morning that we remember nothing
but the emptiness of darkness when no one else
can offer us a light and we sit there with our cigarettes
between our lips; nothing but air in our lungs
and we tell our mothers in the morning that 
for once, we didn’t smoke ourselves into a cancerous stupor,
that for once, we didn’t wake up coughing.
But it’s not enough, not here in this place,
in all this absence and sorrow and open space
that we feel so deeply in our bodies, like an echo,
like a canyon, like a dried up lake that people still visit
when they want to drown.

The End

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