Stuck

in nowhere,

I hear the sound of

Explosions, of white noise

and false glory; stuck in

nowhere,

I remember you with sweetness,

with faded gloss

and dynamic static;

tell me

please,

I implore,

where did it go so right for you,

what point in time

did you become

so perfect

on the eye

and when did the scar

of all you had killed to get there

become rigid

and filled with pus

and decay.

 

Ian D. Hall 2016