"crackle" by brian mumford

your face so close to the edge of the car window
i never know if it's still you
the things that we say we hope for
the things that we try to convince ourselves to desire
things like white picket fences or a new star in the sky
things that no one really gives a fuck about
my promises to you
are heat lightning over a cracked Kansas dirt field
but is it a greater transgression to offer false hope...
or no hope at all?
paper thin layers of distortion
over the ultimate evil of truth.

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