All that remains.

True remains;
Scattered hens feed crunching beneath my feet;
Wispish clouds strung like frayed string across a bland and flat sky;
Red dirt and the burnt landscape of an afternoon in nowhere.

I see the girl in the corner,
She is hunched like an animal over food,
The wire mesh fence is barren behind her,
The colour of her skin so thin it would not dilute paint,
And my stomach small because of the whole scene.

The true remains;
Bones in the language of common conversation buried in loose soil,
Now spilling up into syllables as long and lonely
As cemeteries carved into the corners of cities once mighty,
Now rotten through.

She speaks to me with her eyes;
Taps out morse code in spasmodic trembles on the air between us,
Cracked with tension as it were.
I drop my pants and see recognition;
She is revulsed by me, but it doesn't stop the end from coming.

The truth remains.

Trumpets of You

Translucent epiphany,
Echoes in vain.
Lucid memories,
Calling out your name -
Cold consonants of colour
Keeping crooked fingers
Crossed behind their back.

The things I lack,
The things I want back,
The truth I would give away...

This relentless living that lingers at the corner of my mind.

The ageless dust which descended
Has left loose change over everything.

Now,
The parts of you that I remember:

The black stockings you wore in summer,
The prose in French with my name misspelled,
The eyes you gave me right before we fucked.

What is this brutal humanity that wants to hurt so much?