Wild's End - Typesetter

You should’ve seen your face.

You looked like you’d seen a ghost or at least someone you used to know.

And age has eroded my face.

Scars insist that experience is just something you learn to live with;

live with this.

So — claim staked, a hiding place to lay and wait awake at night.

This lot in life is blanketed in fiction.

I’ll wait for false security to fade.

You said that you believe in love, well I believe in chemicals.

It’s not cynical if it’s factual.

No need to name names, we all share a little blame.

It’s never ending, a novel out of place just waiting for the days of brighter

grays.

I guess I’ll sleep at wild’s end.

You should’ve seen your face.