Broken Things

in my wonder I can weigh the loss that we all suffered 
felt in headaches from the knowing heroes lives uncovered 
to be seen as they had always been 
nothing but a boring shade of blue 
from the knowing that I'll never sing in tune 
like the rest of you 
like the truth that beautiful 
could be wealthy spelt another way 
said to us in words that linger 
words that swear we'll make it through the day 

let die our spoiled architect boroughs 
let die our finger-printed window sorrows 
let us address our wakes by name 
say "I'd have the strength to face you, day, 
if not for all the broken things in my life." 

I found the need to stay alive, 
reason enough to pay to mind 
that all of this could mean the world 
or be such a fucking waste of time