The Dust of a Dream

I can’t remember who I was with you.

               That naïve and clean boy, so sweet,

               Sitting at your side, so eager to please,

               To win your favor.

 

               I can’t remember hope when I woke up,

               Or how waiting on you to call, because

               Hearing your voice would make it all

               So beautiful and worthwhile.

 

               I can’t remember believing in God,

               And in angels who swooped in to save,

               Or thinking that HE up there loved us,

               And cared so fucking much.

 

               From here, years later, in our love

               Souring and the demons having won,

               When the march is on to snuff out

               All those decided unfit,

 

               It’s like not even the dust of a dream.

               I know it was real once, that I felt all that,

               But it’s a lead ball in my chest, a weight

               Of shame, like believing you were worthwhile.

 

               The demons you called angels, the cruel ones

               You called saints, the Hate you called Morality,

               When come to kill you, just like me, and that

               Is a cold, bitter comfort, but comfort all the same.

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