Afterlives

Crushed lungs beneath fleeting breaths. 

The floating windows crumble crying out feeling fresh.

The salt on wounds that parades circle in their pride.

Our skulls twenty years fractured buckle and sigh.

Strangers pass us but still can trace.

The blood we leak to the original canvas space.

Windows turn to the backs of heads smaller just passerbys.

Our homes, these prisons, all just lies. 

Fault lines that edge, and trip brethren that scoff our names to hollow skies.

This train has derailed to our demise.

Buried beneath the belated praise way too late.

As words of wonder, love, and kinship surround our graves.