Bend

The ground will forever refuse
to get close to you,
a fear the world harbors.
To live in the red stains
on the white,
environments made of accidents.
Weak at the knees,
failing with the ripe old age,
an ache,
a pain,
a screaming bend.
Never expect to find us again
once the lights go out,
you will hate what we’ve done.

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