cockroach legs as dreamcatchers

dreams don’t come true
after they rot
turn to glitterdust nothingness
they are gathered
by the twitching legs of dirty
that live in the walls
behind the drywall
there are millions of eggs
waiting to hatch
to roll in the remnants
of the things
you wanted most
in all the world

dreams are only good
until you reach
the bottom of the bottle
if you are lucky
someone hands you
but mostly it is
a dull headache
dry mouth
and a craving
for something greasy.
as the cockroaches scurry
in the dark
leaving infrared chemtrails
of the you
you will never be

we use cockroach legs
as dreamcatchers
we put all of our eggs
in one basket
carefully surrounded
by nitroglycerin sweating
sticks of dynamite
as we run downhill
towards a field of shatterstar
wildflowers sprouting
through ice of her dismissal
instead of slowing
we just close our eyes
lean our center of gravity
in hopes of
going out in style
a final farewell to the ones
who can’t stare
down the barrel of truth

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