One day I will find the right words and they will be simple.
Backhand words muttered by a man made mad
By a world
Which would accept anything
Except the truth
Perhaps
Simple enough
If it is
Even still
But the light in front
Shone bright
Testament to
A woman whose darkness His light was unable to pierce
Ramshackle eruption of chaos
Was her land
From where
He had been cast
His voice became nothing more than an echo
In the din
Made mad
Though he had committed no sin
Except the truth
Perhaps
For a moment his foot glanced the brake
He could stop
Sudden appearance could contain
An earthquake where everything askew
Would be thrust back
Back
Back into place
Then he laughed
She was a Black Widow
From which he had escaped
The husks of too many men made mad
But in the ripping free
He longed to be
Trapped
But he could not
Return
To the truth
Of her
And him
That made him mad
Fumbling with fiction
To reach the truth
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