And then one day you weren’t
at least not like before,
but I still was.

When you bury a scream amidst
the shattering of things, it
scabs over
festers.
It is and
always will be.

But you’re not was.
I saw you sift through smiling hands tossed
towards a sea where you never
could be,
were,
but now are. So you must be is.
And you must be my was.

I’m still that same black hole
accelerating so fiercely nothing can escape.
An event horizon propelled by physical fear
until every time I look away,
each new face turns into was.

The antithesis of each are,
is was,
but still can’t remove is. So was
must be are.

We are centuries of darkness
turned to a thousand trips down the hall
while the silence adjusts
slowly
to us.