Mausoleum

On the floor
lie the
remains of
the glass you broke
when you lost the will
to function
today.
And you
are a ghost
to yourself today
and you tell me not to worry
as if I can trust you or anyone
when they tell me everything
anything
will be okay,
will be all right.

And you have given me an excuse I've long needed
to pretend I don't even live here
with your haunting optimism and its cynical underpinnings
telling me we can pretend:
to believe,
to care,
to live,
and so on,
because for me this is just a hobby
and a waiting game for when everything comes together
and maybe I was a gullible child
but I never believed in winning,
and do we even have a choice?
Gathering our possessions we shift
underground
nocturnal
and gather the broken, jagged pieces
and in a dust-choked marble reliquary
they will wait for us to
make a move.