We’re always dreaming of an alternate ending. A fissure of light. But we’re stuck here pretending. It’s an empty color in a world picked over. Any instance of life easily swept under. It’s an empty color in a world picked over. Letters painted black in the hall that said “hold fast hope.” We followed them, they swallowed us whole. Nothing left to fear. From the tree tops. On the sidewalks. When the day’s done we are no one. We slip away leaving traces behind. Traces of what we were. And when it all falls apart there’s nothing left to fear.
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