east_of_everything raze the detritus of what i fed my friends stains the twin slots that sit atop a box tasked with burning bread. no amount of swearing or staring at the mess will make what's caked with dust pristine again. the rain is more spit than piss this morning. it's there all the same. i see the man who owns the house we've made our home has planted some sad twisted sapling in the place i like to stand after dragging my drained frame through the back door and into the harsh light of day. any other tree i'd be glad to see. this one is an insult to all i care for. i rip it out by the roots and pitch it into the dirt for him to find, east of everything that's mine. 250819 what's it to you? who go blather from