journal · poetry

Disaster

I’m weaving words into the silence.
Dropping smiles
that light the space like sirens.
But every moment captured
is a false advertisement;
a projection of the life that I have longed for.
And there is no saving face,
no saving grace.
Nothing here that’s really
worth the chase
to work for.
And as the lace of time
unravels in the space
it leaves my soul sublimely
empty.
For no wish, nor hope,
nor smile can erase
the little lies
undfriendly ties
the expectation-weighted-highs
the ungodly amount of
bullshit that flies
in a life lived in quiet
disappointment.

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