Bitter Salt

The stupid part was we let the poison in.
Money, friendships, a living.
And what escape is there from an open cage?
We wished well those who left its service early
but bitterly watched their backs as they went.
We didn’t feel the jealousy just then.
The bad taste in our mouths was the envy to come
when the sweat and the nightmares would take us
make us yearn for the years ill-spent
make us wonder about things not seen
places un-went.
Back then we didn’t suspect
those who left looked back at us
with that same kind of pregnant loathing.
They would feel it sooner than us:
the hunger
the addiction
jonesing for that “being part of something”
like the uniform and the sweet, metal smells were lines and hits.
All of us hadn’t realized it then
but those who left
and those who stayed
would dream the same demons
all the same.

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Lay an Egg

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