Oct 29


They’ve filled their mouths with dirt,
elegantly crumbling from any available pore.
It’s the right idea. 
Dispersing that clump of guilt into chunks 
For the lives that passed through.

Every headlight glimmers.
it’s all too fast, too fast. 
Each moment lost, fogged up.
Better take your hands off the wheel.

There’s nothing they can change. 
it’s not your fault. 
But they misinterpret everything they come across, 
The envy is wrong. This seems obvious. 
When will the rapture end?