Help your craving
when you sense
that the missing part
has yet to be filled.
You weren’t here
to be swallowed up.
Instead, you came
to see yourself
followed up.
Into burning brush,
gnarled wood,
faces that will never
remember yours.
The smoke has more
of your reflection
than the mirrors.
Count the days,
until your agony
can’t be higher.
What’s deleted
your innocence,
has captured
your insignificance.
For you bend rules,
just as easily
as you head into
bends in the roads
to lose your light,
to help yourself
to the night.
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