the air swells
in twisted purples
as thunder shakes
from beneath our seats
inevitably,
water streams
first as light as pebbles
then like layered brick
stacking up up up
until it all falls down red gleams bathe
and scream
until they drown
as two-minute silences
suffocate us from inside out
it was always coming,
and we were always going,
aimlessly pretending
what was left wasn’t left behind
they say storms don’t last forever but ceaselessly ours pours until all that’s seen is muddled
from front to back and
all there’s left to cling to is the fact that pretend is all we’ll ever be
there’s nothing left for you and me
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