Proximity to Then

the  distance yawned.
as we collected its rope. 

the silence tied its knots.
and we scoffed at the noose. 

the edge knew us too well.
in the foul way that only desperation does. 

there were monsters under our bed.
more scared of us than we were of them. 

the truth licked its lips.
while we cut out its tongue.

we were poison to each other.
but instead of killing us,
it only made us immune. 

time smothered us in new flesh,  
but underneath,
those old wounds still persist.