There is a thin line we walk on our side of dreams.

I am pulling the thread now it’s taut,

the tapestry is unweaved

by fear, by doubt, by any other thing unbecoming - at all unsightly.

We have a long way to walk to clarity in everything

and all at once I am pulling the thread now it’s taught.

A whole life that you had forgot.

There used to be a city here.

Bullet bits stuck in skin, the frailty of flesh, running colored days.

I’m reaching for your threads.

Words gnaw through my walls, a moonlit, soft window.

I am dreaming in a tidal-waved ocean.

I am drawn back to the neon glow of all of this shit.

And I hate it.

Oh, god. I hate it.

How can you know when you know?

There used to be a city here.

Look around.

There used to be a city here.