the cave-in started
with honesty,
a promise
an admiration of agency,
of power and pride.

it was felt for miles
yet went unnoticed
the surrounding area
laughing
"I don't understand,"
a birthday at the next table,
a crying child.

wine bled through the cracks in that cave
as the flow of native water
slowed to a trickle
and receded
to make way for
desperation
at least so it seemed.

weeds and smiles
withered and revealed
selfishness,
loathing,
pain and fear.

what appeared there
in the collapsing darkness
of the once rigid--
and now compromised--
shelter of those
warm catacombs
was,
in fact,

hatred

layers upon layers of sedimentary disgust
that rendered those systems
inhospitable
uninhabitable
anger
and wine
laughter

"I'm not coming back."