the folds intersect. a casual symmetry of choices. until the creases grow weak. and the angles become rigid.
sixty degrees of flesh struggling in a paper skeleton. the dead chasing frozen second hands.
tomorrow is. was. will be. the infinite conundrum of breath. even as all the muscles fail. life maintains its progress.
the dark sky. the missing stars we know were there a lifetime ago. their long extinguished light. hat somehow still feels real.
we trace the patterns. the cold sheets of time that make our beds. we shiver on the precipice of sleep. both afraid to dream and afraid to wake up.
maybe we’re already dead. all our corners turned. all of our ashes scattered.
the tether of gravity a distant laugh. as time dissolves in a whisper of chagrin.
our seldom flesh grieving too loudly. as we negotiate our fading skeletons.
the ugly bite of choice and skin releasing its venom.
life in hiccups and vomit. all creases and ink. in books no one’s written.
we revel in our diseases. we rejoice in our sickness.
convinced life is infinite even as it slips from our grasp.
she spent the toad. stories sharp enough to draw blood.
the distance grinned. sober for the first time. all muddy cleats and missing buttons. as memory slipped inside its soiled panties. moist with the chase of skin’s feverish arithmetic.
she kissed the prince. an epiphany of disappointment. the sour revelation of circumstance. the thin contrivances of hope.
all the melted candies and stale confections that we call love. discarded at last.
we split our wagers on time and distance. richer for having taken the risk.
we measure the silence in missing heartbeats. carrying our bridges in our pockets. as our yesterdays come to reconcile their debts.
all the rain of april. all the heat of august. everything we call life. suspended.
all the snow that falls. all the thunderstorms. all the treacherous roads that lead us to hope.
each one. all of them. betray us with every breath.
the blade breaks. the candles melt. our footsteps thunder in the rain.
the storm arrives. stiff and hungry. as the future cinches its knots.
all the worn crayons. all the soiled gowns. lingering on the end of the world.
we say the words. but that’s all they are. we stab at the truth. with broken pencils that draw only ghosts.
in the absence of light the shadows fill her in. the mind all torn bread and dry toast. she remembers the sky.
but it’s forgotten her.
the edge was rigid. the needle still in its vein. we danced with the poison. as the music faded from our skin.
these cages come and go. love’s melting ice. trust’s lingering infection.
stones underfoot as we try to run. the arithmetic of god coming undone.
the little lies evolve. until everything is false.
the mountains we climb crumble.
all that’s left is the bottom.
the longer paths slope. angles and inertia shuffling their decimals. the fickle arithmetic of sober tugging on lingering ghosts.
the small stones listen as gravity discards her clothes. sometimes devours our future. while yesterday gnaws on our bones.
the blind corners watch as we remember tomorrow. deaf in a world with only sound. starving in an abundance of food.
the edge beckons in whispers. a stray with wide eyes. the needle touches the vein. but the poison hesitates.
we’re worn by thieves. we’re spent by strangers. flesh is everything.
too many years ago we traded our words for the things our flesh wanted.
we clutched the yellow crayon. the blank paper quivering beneath the stumble of our breathing. the crisp of our grief still ripening in our fingers. the blunt of time poised to empty our hearts.
we were content to let the moments have us. as our tissue paper smiles snarled against the rain. we tread the void between rage and acceptance. without a reason. other than necessity.
every touch felt like surrender. every trust was a tidal wave. we were eager to drown in each other, but life had other plans.
the road burned as we chased it. the miles didn’t care at all. small cuts that never healed spoiled us. as the deeper wounds took over.
we were never so small as we were that day.
lost finds us. naked dolls searching for their skins. tomorrow presses down hard. its weight drives. its truth diminishes. we’re all orphans of a future we’ve yet to live.
life is a wager of flesh and blood. a permanent debt to all that we love.
we don’t see. or refuse to acknowledge. how minimal we are. wrinkles in the fist of an imaginary god. burnt sugar on the back of time’s tongue.
chewed up. swallowed. eventually digested.
the world doesn’t care that we’re here. it happens with or without us.
gravity and wind are indifferent. we go down. we go up. we’re strong. we’re weak.
small flames shouting at an endless darkness. pounding against a door that remains locked.
the end comes in scratches and empty needles. the drug turns and becomes a poison. we haven’t changed. everything else has. all the moaning monsters inside us gasping for breath. as the future suffocates.
familiar paths diverge. safe places are breached. lost resolves to this vacant epiphany.
the tide is rising. we’re drowning.
under water. we’re learning how to breathe.
but evolution is slow and the ignorant masses keep insisting.
we’re waiting for change. but change isn’t waiting. we’re drowning in all the words we can’t speak.
we realizing it’s over, but the flesh is unwilling.
we’re dying, but our graves are empty.
we’re sold to tomorrow. while we remain in debt to yesterday.