Leaving The Faith

A desperate choke
a suspect thing of race-heart and boneshake leg,
rattlefist and dry-mouth bare-teeth howl.
(I saw the best minds of my–)

We all think we remember
(Never forget)

But what we’re hoping for
is the chance to do exactly that
Just exactly that
While no one calls us on our shit
But instead, silently abides,
dwells beside us,
all of us guilty
in our apostasy.

About Catastrophe Jones

Wretched word-goblin with enough interests that they're not particularly awesome at any of them. Terrible self-esteem and yet prone to hilarious bouts of hubris. Full of the worst flavors of self-awareness. Owns far too many craft supplies. Will sing to you at the slightest provocation.
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