d.u.m.p. ? The Magic Hour. aka FUCK YOU.

Our magic hour does not overlap

Or even coexist

We are separate

You coming first

Hyper and messy

And I trail, picking up the pieces of the wreckage at evening’s dusk.

-A clock that will last for 60 years.

-A calendar that never will be.

-One lost string from a song that wasn’t written.

-My not-tear, wet against my fingers.

But,

You’ve already learned that it’s easy to pretend dreams don’t have faces

You can be selfish

You can be

whatever you want to be, boy, in your dreams.

You haven’t yet learned that life is harder to live in the dust of your boots

Or worse- another’s

No, don’t turn around boy

No need to see me in your wake.

Keep walking

Keep walking

toward your magic hour.