Fake wood on all these tables
Beautiful grains ebbing and flowing
Across a deep brown
It's all fake, didn't someone tell you?
A sticker, an assumed truth that peels off like dead skin
Proven later to be nothing close
To true woods

Sugar stings as much as salt
Poured in an open wound, if not more
Best to let it air dry, kissed by the sun
And not corruptible lips
And not corruptible lips

Stifled memories, memorized faces
Pop up at the strangest times
And assault with swords strung from quotes
Points of color that break the skin
Let it alone now
Let it alone