Remaining Fragments

They sit on the stairs and tell stories
about the times when they would
climb into whatever dark holes they
could find just to see something new.
The moments they held onto from back
then are too few, and they struggle to
keep a grip on the last remaining fragments.
They sketch on napkins faces of people they
used to know and get into little arguments
about the minor details of their profiles, but
in the end none of them could be sure.
Something about those days was just so pure
and they never had to second guess themselves,
not quite seeing all the things that were wrong.
They feel strong when they glance back at the
monsters left in the dust of their past. I just want
something good to last. The concrete breaks down
over years of carrying the weight and you cannot
hate all those forces that bring you to your knees.
Sometimes you’ve gotta make them bleed too,
and those cliffs tower over us all.

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