FicWad

One's words smell like slept-in sheets
they're lived in
like a home
your friends and your slaves
just like dogs

But some are rubbled houses
corpses of all the people
that you never really knew
gunshots that kill
without a bullet
and every time they're sung
put a reminding thorn
into the author's side

And I don't know what to tell you
because I'm not sure
if you want to be proven wrong
or found red-handed
called out on your crime and penanced
to think yourself worthy
of what
you've actually accomplished

Maybe
we just need to be told it's fine
it's over now