End Is

Full of white lies,
every day.

The circle of your
lips, pretending.

Words spoken, each
hitting my ears.

I am not the benefit
of the doubt.

My thoughts are like
rivers running dry.

Someday, sometime,
the future is

the future of
every one.

Full of you, that
was the past.

You can’t come back.
I can’t love you now.




About chester maynes

poet, and a lover of music and books.
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