LANSING

Begging for a word or a lie, 

imploring at the tip of your tongue, 

scratching your throat so dry, 

It's weathering away. 

A type of devotion no one understands, 

Tell me, where does your heart lie? 

Have you forgotten those words,

told only a fortnight ago? 

Your gaze lingered inconsistently,

playing god in my own world. 

Gave my fidelity to this religion

and I can't seem to escape. 

Nothing but consenting compliances, 

two halves from the same nebula. 

Story of destruction only to cease, 

written before we knew it.