Aftermath
Coming back through the road
I use to turn off full beams
and headlights full of you,
you are all here again
as cracks reappearing
back in mind;
Some rear view road
closed off behind.
When, after coming out of this everytime,
meeting you on some different route,
It opens up
and suffers all again, the road
stretched back
it seems to meet some common cause,
some love in me I lack.
These feet we used
to tread the tracks are tired out;
have given up carrying us to a place
we visit now just as graves.
But not with flowers
or any sentiments:
the memories
are as dead:
us going down and grass
growing up instead.
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