we laid between paper blankets,
listening to the bittersweet
lull of the road on some
separate days when we thought we
saw each other's faces. we
felt those machines grinding beneath
us. you called them the bridge between
worlds; i called them gluttons for
black blood and asphalt rain.
i called them the reason.

they smiled.
they said,
'when you see yourself wrapped in miles,
you'll only blame yourself'. & they
were right.
i forgot; i loathed myself
(as i should have,
as i was meant to).

i only saw—
i always
saw the sky turn to red adobe,
to peeled oranges and plums. i
saw the burial sites i call home
all the dead and dying debris & the
sparkling glass on these city streets.

the sky played the beauty of this
wasteland's beast &

sometimes i saw you,
thought i saw you
mingling with the beast or
courting the sky. & you
were radiant then with your
exotic hair and earth bound
eyes. but you were
never really there.

(just a ghost in the folds
of memories & days
gone by)

i told you.
you said it was okay.
we said it was fine. but why

am i sleeping with skeletons,
stifling my own voice until it
all turns into dust?