cocksure idiocy

we would walk
along the lime covered trail
kicking rocks
explaining in that
cocksure teenage certainty
we knew exactly
everything necessary
to bend the world
around our whims

the four of us
a cohesive unit
inseparable against
a world that we knew
wasn’t ready for us

stealing cigarettes
getting stoned beneath
the rusted train tressle
pontificating upon
vague ideas
we knew nothing about
moths circling the
bright light of dreams
unaware how quickly
it would burn us to cinder

i drive alone
parking lot to empty garage
one ways in a maze
parallel parking on
busy streets
kicking rocks down the
broken sidewalks
three ghosts whispering
beside me
wondering whatever happened
to changing the world
realizing it had
gotten to us first
four become one last fool
talking to himself
confused as to how
they are dead and i
am just an epitaph in
faded remorse haunted
by what never truly was

the four of us
nothing but memories
scars buried
beneath fresh scars
long weathered and pale
wilted reminders
sepia toned dissociation
on a cool october morning

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