God demands verity.

walked the whole way
over pavement
without symphony or
interference to gain ground,
pay attention to the
little things,
my conscience breathed:

which way people face
when rehearsing their speeches,
the heart pinches,
the dreams in which you run in vain,
but run towards something instead of skulk away,
waxing moons,
a sudden disbelief,
seasons changing,
an idea of something without capture but it
creeps into your gut each day to remind you:
life is mostly faith.
(write it)

the distance between fingers,
between mistakes,
rhythm of the cracks in pace,
the time it takes to redress,
the way absence tastes;
less like anticipation and more like
unbridled screaming
and no one hears you break;
your lungs spilling over with great conviction,
arduous undoing that breaks you open but what
great relief you found it before you let the night shade take you
(feel it)
the way they breathe,
so cool and tame
and across the way,
the way they once said it openly,
and now,

the way they hide the way they
screech your name.



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