A quick spark and the flame flashes,
tarring everything around with a soot
long thought to have been swept away
by time and the little acts of love.
Wanting what cannot be given
spreads a viscous cruelty, seeping
into every pore and thought,
colors every act, stops momentum.
A sullen future is rendered
that holds neither promise nor variety:
a meatcase shiny and well lit on the outside,
but inside stinking of death.
A domino of changes started cannot be stopped.
This look, the turn away;
The momentum of parting.
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