C.

Lucas Bailor

 

We were alive, once. Now

existing as a frayed concoction

of strings, each a connection

to the bodies close

and smiling, laughs falling

like bread crumbs,

a trail blown up by the wind.

 

I search for the remnants

of your voice, buried somewhere

within a static murmur,

feeling the dread of darkness dragging

itself over me, crawling underneath

my blanket, a reminder

that this was all preventable.

 

My memories of you, too often

out of order, exist as shards

too jagged to connect, sharp enough

to keep my consciousness bleeding, each

driving down the darkness

of Cajalco at night, the eternal road

back to that moment in time.

 

I kicked the top

of a sand dune, and what

seemingly took eternities to be established

crashed, the granules

of time and our histories

chasing each other

towards an endless bottom.

 

I dig through our ashes hoping

that something is still burning, and as

this whiskey warms my stomach, I wonder

if we could’ve gotten drunk together, and

laughed some more, and

smiled some more, and

built some more.

 

 


Lucas Bailor is an emerging writer from Moreno Valley, CA. He is currently working towards his MA in English.