Beautifully written

God's Only Toys

forty

It’s not getting any better.
And I’m not going to be alright.
The water’s frozen over.
With the cracking of the ice, like the cracking of my back.
I can hear no movement coming.
There is nothing.
And I have become it.
I sleep too much and I speak too low.
For in their silence, I can still hear your laugh.
The voices of others are the sound of ground glass.
The chaos of crickets as I lay my head on the grass.

There are photos of us.
You and I in the background
Of somebody’s memories.
I found them by chance.
In a hole in a wall that you built.
I hold them too close.
Don’t I always?
I don’t suppose you know they exist.
I lit them by moonlight at my window.
To put a bit of fight in my chest.
I smoke a lot of cigarettes.
And…

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