trenzalore

fractal faces of you trick

older and silent

with a black brow of defeat,

it hangs heavy like a glass

in my hand, lead and cold.



you're too young

and I am not old enough

yet they have our past

the time runs down and out again,

but never in that same place.



it is for the best

a rusted wire

cutting at my conscience

is a false pardon



I will be here

dying like a whore

and you will still be too afraid to hold my hand.