five-sided crisis

we snap our fingers to the rhythm of your
excuses, we watch your mouth twitch like—
your tells are giants and you are so small—
we want to push you out of the way but you
built your house out of indifference, the
vacuum that is your heart, the sad stories that
follow you, the fear that burns in your deep dark
engine, the words from which you bully all substance
you move to the light like a desperate moth and there
you turn, you turn, you turn and turn and turn.