I am watching an old friend
eat fresh bread in a nice restaurant

She doesn’t understand addiction
she says

She doesn’t understand making bad decisions like flying to third world countries

She always gives it that 100%

I hope her glass of water is humility washing down the pretentious bread

I know a man who listens to headstones because they say things that still reach up to live inside of the living

In my mind I am wishing I was eating dinner with him and our dead friends

But I am forced to sit across from that mouth that is shoving bread into it while complaining that it is stale bread

And the mouth is saying that it doesn’t understand addiction or bad decisions

It gives it that 100%

My mind wanders through the tombs while the bread blows up in the mouth’s belly

More and more I want to lay in the cool grass in the cemetery and listen to footsteps that refuse to die


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