the writing on the facade tells me to go home and sit by the fire. I ride as fast as wheels will spin along to sirens or saints, passing pyramids and haunted homes I might have seen in movies. bricks and future funeral pyres I'll only know in passing. signs to places I will never go.
in my room the bed is how I left it and the washing hasn't dried. neglected prayers decorate the walls I can't quite cover. she scratches at the window and cries until the rain comes back again.
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