You’re surrounded
you can only guess at their intentions—lightly, brightly
They watch you
walk around like you’re in a hazy B-movie
You go through your memory reels, reeling that nothing is quite in focus
how do you stand it?
The same scene just keeps playing over and over, the needle stuck in the same groove
No third act coming.
Forever gazing at the sky
is how your dreams die
Megan Porter Poetry 