grey dirt

cigarette burning down
built in an ashtray
it means little but a standing insult
walking out of the room
leaving an exclamation mark behind

we have sat here amongst this
elbows in tables
staring across the room
wondering where it leads
why it tastes like this

aftermath isn’t always in pieces
some times it is just rearranging
discovering new angles
undoing the tangles
digging into grey dirt

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