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The Fact

Writer's picture: Emilee JacobsonEmilee Jacobson

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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