Hear the whisper of severed chords.
It’s ending tonight.
Innocence disrobed and robbed of excuses,
we stood around the smoldering shreds of a paper town.
Cutout ideas and origami architecture on the bedroom floor
posed a riot against our past selves.
The city outside the window was wrong about us.
In a riot against our shadows,
stamping out heartfelt hard truths,
I swore the taps echoed like poetry,
where we danced in a dream adorned in white.
A trembling hand held in a steady palm
felt a distant isle shrinking in a haze,
familiar made foreign where recognition stood.
Fingers grazing now recoiled
while foraging for whatever was there before.
Our sky of blankets, propped up by youthful assurance
swung by the wayside in our turbulence,
shaking the parchment roof to heel.
We asked for another round of the glass we shared in the moment
when terra burst from blankness,
drew forms on a paper town,
but hope only lasts so long in dried ink and crumbled lines,
and the folded lies come to flourish last.
I swore in the lessening glow
we danced in a dream adorned in white.
In our makeshift metro,
the city was silent at the sight of untangled stars.
It had to crash eventually.
( ❤ Mitch)