What if we were dangerous?
The words we imagined taking shape into weapons to damage the ones who makes us feel afraid?
The ice of dread in our guts becoming a blizzard to blanket us and everyone in quiet white static,
The demons in our dreams stifled forever?

What if we gave up on never dying?
The red-orange of the setting sun is a thin line between yellow’s day and purple’s night.
I want to paint it but I can’t get the colors right.
Crumple it all into broken glass and scatter the pieces where they gleam in the light.
My palette just isn’t deep enough.

What if we forgave the sins in our hearts?
We step in red ink and carry it with us with every foot fall.
We trade vices like playing cards and there are no winners.
We lock the keys to our secrets in the running car of our psyche.

What if we proved our integrity without a trial?
What if we weren’t guarded?
What if we fled from everything we’ve ever conceived of?
What if we stopped?



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