On the other side of the sun, your anger burns.

Not even a flicker remains of you; no word-soaked aftermath
pouring from gutters when these storms wake and pass,
wake and pass like trains whistling by-gones to stars

flickering a light on your true colors reflecting black and blue,
blue and black nights left alone – just you and your thoughts
in countless hours spent blaming, naming names,

baking honey dipped lies just sweet enough to believe.



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