I dreamt of our demise like clockwork,
now I don’t belong to anyone anymore.
They used to talk about freedoms such as this
but I never understood it or even thought to ask their names; I wish I did.
They told me that the day is nothing but the night in disguise
rolling along and fooling us all. Ha ha– and the joke’s on us I guess
and I should’ve known, what with all that artificial glow some days
like a Thomas Kinkade painting hanging in my grandmother’s hall,
light so perfectly refracted and
bouncing so hard off the not-so-newly fallen snow
that I can barely keep my eyes open, navigate through it all.
But I didn’t believe them and all their flowery, auxiliary bullshit too empirical for my tastes
so I turned them away, took a chance of my own.
They told me you were like the day, not to be trusted
but I loved to play the fool and fake my amazement at your contrived but oh-so-calming light.
I liked the way you’d shine with those shadows all around closing in
like time and suddenly there’s nothing but the bright, electric absence of light-
suddenly there’s nothing but you-
They were right.
in parentheses 