Saccherin, Splintering, Slowly

They’ll be recounting a thousand tales
of how we shoveled ourselves free
with coal-black fingernails.
Of how we looked up at marble skies
with tearing hearts
and avaricious eyes.

They’ll be telling it all:
how we travelled twenty-five million miles
in sixty-two seconds,
young and proud as we were.
How we lived on borrowed time
in a borrowed place.
How we kissed and hugged for fun
and fucked for a laugh.
They’ll be warning:
how we were young and proud.

They’ll weave all the threads
of how we suffocated brutally,
scratching each other’s skin off
with fingernails so red.
Of how we looked up at mirrors on the ceiling
with quivering souls
that sent us reeling.

They’ll be telling it all:
how we travelled twenty-five million miles
in sixty-two seconds,
young and proud as we were.
How we lived on borrowed time
in a borrowed place.
How we kissed and hugged for fun
and fucked for a laugh.
They’ll be warning:
how we planned never to be sorry.

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