I held too much stock in those sweet nothings.

I held nothings in truth, reality,

distance.
Fool's gold
Lush's drink
And
nothing to show for it all in this time.


I thought "Chance!"
No.
No.
No.
Naive strikes again,
A chariot of ash rolls through in the sight of pupil blue.
And
I,
palms crossed
pulse calmed
forever a momento of your destruction.