all the king’s horses and all the king’s men


when the image of someone you love
their honest heart and childish soul
falls down—crumbles to bits

the next move is so hard to call

some images were never real, and
are worth reconstructing—
with more accuracy than ever before

others are just what they always were—
forever broken, and
simply revealed through small cracks over time

waste no time on the cracked eggs

go get sunny side up elsewhere, or
hell, get scrambled.

but never return to what hurt you.


leave a note for alex.

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