what’s left

what’s left of lovers,
hugs in disguise,
thinking of monsters
but we’re none the wise
and while they keep struggling,
for better or worse,
like old tired deities
from cities of norse,
what’s left of friends,
shambles in truth,
wasted memories
of the dangerous youth
that we’ve both survived
and acknowledged and thrived.
what’s left of hearts,
and stare.

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