one day
the bastards
that never
really knew me
will try to
make this
humanoid molehill
into a mountain
of shaky lies
but we will
always know
i am nothing
but a tract of
salted soil
where your
dreams go to die

an inconvenience
store where
you can take
what you want
and never look
back at the
building smoldering
in the rearview
while reminding
yourself there was
nothing to be here
nothing to see
just silhouettes
in faded shades
of disappointment