a story
hung on facts
except sometimes
those facts have no validation
no one else tells them
quite like you do
so if you stop to listen
you watch your hook
dissolve into the paint
decorating a wall
without a foundation
and your past slides a bit
catawampus
against that wall
that also slides
and the whole of it
turns into a child’s project
gone awry
gone horribly wrong
hanging there
embarrassingly
behind your smile
while you light
the match
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