The Stories We insist

 we spend ourselves in these obvious maps. truculent thieves cutting exits in arrogant doors. ambivalent soldiers caught in an unwinnable war. 

time fusses over the remaining threads. 

we tear off our trench coats and invite the storm inside. 

we lie and say it's enough. but it never is. 

memory forgets the wounds. even as the bandages still fill with blood.

we stumble up those stairs. all too aware of every step. 

the monsters inventory their claws. the future purchases our grief. for pennies on the dollar. leaving us bankrupt. 

we borrow what we can from each other. but it never is enough.