So one man looked to another
And saw only what he wanted -
What he thought he better
Have got before he was dead.
Because we're taught that there's a hole inside
Where our dreams used to go
But we ripped them out with our iron claw and set them aside.
Forgotten for another day, when, maybe,
We can stoop low
To that dented box that holds your bike that you used to ride
Through the church parking lot
And the trees
And the wind blowing through your hair
Running away from here.
Instead we blocked up the hole
We singed the edges with smoke.
We drowned our blood with whiskey
And promised ourselves: just this one last bowl.
Until the once-beautiful thing that was inside lifted its tortured head and spoke:
Oh and for your sake I hope you live 'till sixty
So you can see what you could have been, had you kept yourself whole.
And it died.
Never lose sight of why you do what you do,
Or what you do will become why.
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