the hours coalesce. thick with journeys half completed. the seldom becomes frequent. complicit with choices. we stall. on the edge of the sun. pumping gas into dead engines.
the world is ugly, yet we find the beauty in it. dismissing the cold in our quest for summer.
the anchor drops. and we orbit the void. as it grows to consume us. we struggle to breathe against the weight of the shock.
i always knew. though i was unaware. the mountain was always there. it was the top that remained unclear.
the basket fell open. the treats tumbled out. it wasn’t the wolf i feared. it was how easily it infliftrated.
the pain insists. in quiet groans. the bridge sways against the wind. accumulating gravity in thumbtacks and paper cuts. we walk on fractured paths. measuring paradise in bruises and splints.
i try to run, but my body denies me. i try to forget how close i was. but memory is a cruel mistress.
time is math. choice is science. we stack the bricks. worshipping our walls. we count the windows. as the doors vanish. we wrestle with the fire. until only the smoke remembers
the curious thieves we take as lovers.
the wind punches. the clouds roar. we’ve been everywhere. and there’s nowhere left.
the angle relents. the distance swallows. a funeral of skin urges us to live.
turpentine lips steal the colors from unraveling threads. we marvel at gravity’s persistence. spoiling in the yoke of our paradox. that what makes us weak also makes us strong.
touch like tinder. easily ignites. we embrace the flames. anything to escape the cold.
flesh unfurls. a treacherous road. the body reveals its topography. a merciless terrain of highs and lows.
a perfect odyssey of pleasure and pain.
we forgot the sun. our eyes closed. our bodies suspect. souveniers of lingering storms.
we spent the dark. the only wealth we had. but it bought us only more of its nothing.
the wind’s generous folds flirted with gravity. negotiating the terms of impact. how hard. how many pieces.
the moments plastic. skin like cement. time’s fragile needle stuck between them.
the wind pushes. pulls. laughs. time belongs to all of us. it’s ours to break. yet, it remains, the feral beast we are unable to tame.
forget the sun. it’s winter now. there’s no use for warmth. remember the clouds. because they remember us. as the cold slips in and our crutches rot.
the broken stairs. the missing steps. coughing. aching. under our skin. taut rubber bands. snapping.
it’s not weakness that cripples. it’s arrogrance. as the hills work their wicked gravity.
the path pretends to find us. assuming that we were lost. the storm pauses. waiting for the lightning.
but usually, it jsust stays dark.
it was far. until it wasn’t. a commulative endurance. stickpins in the shallow folds of our want. pages torn from the depths of our loss.
wearing the math like soldiers in a storm. searching for the sum. defending the deficit. the rain doubts. but the wind is sure.
the distance has its skirmishes. still the weather determines the length of our war. the scrape of skin. the stab of gravity. as the edge approaches. a puzzle without pieces. a pictire in the dark.
it’s never too close. nor too far. the bridges take us there. our choices takes us home.
the cold unfurls. a gentle beast. we press the wind. with empty pens and broken keys. liars full of truth. sinking. in the quicksand that is each moment. ready to suffocate. commanding the precipice. content to fall.
forgetting the little snares. ignoring the minor predators. solving the road in pebbles and twigs. the way we first found it. how it last discovered us.
the raindrops weighted. the sun always borrowed. as we chase our dwindling horizons.
it’s not the weather. nor time. needles threading the void. slopes altering the force required to push.
it’s our choices. how they’ve spent us.