tepid

The mass revolution-

sutures up my arm,

where I’ve torn away the flesh touched by your fire

blackened

burning

I can’t do these things forever.

My heart is not so strong. 

It is beating like its not sure how much longer it has

like its afraid that the blood in my veins will find another host

one with something better to offer.

how many labors must i toil through

 to gain the worth of gods 

or just one person

I’m enough

you say

falling into that pit

that you’ll call home

in a different way

The gears between us grind in ways

that will turn supports into cinders

and burn the bridge we came in on