she kept listening after all the ghosts had gone to bed. for the laughter of chains. for the choke of choices.
her answers much too quiet as their questions stomped their feet.
the distance made its edits while she tore out the pages.
every touch a potential thief.
the world swayed. crippled by its tenderness.
fragile windows negotiating with the rain.
every coin spent on names she can’t recall.
the tender horizon discarded its gown. places snaking through us like tangled threads. the distance hungry for another fragile destination.
we’re quiet as the hours place their bets.
merchants of time. mercenaries of conceit.
sick with the diseases that pretend to cure us.
pale magicians in heavy hats.
determined thieves with pockets full of broken promises.
still we whisper someday. even as everything around us forgets.
we were so deep in the earth. and yet the sky bent down to reach us. empty attics. shattered doors. on collapsed houses.
we were so pale in our purchase. still the colors came in a flood. temporary lies that had become permanent.
the storm was brief, but everything was ravaged. we stepped over the fallen pieces. the previous structure no longer valid.
we turned our coins inside our pockets. counting the debts that had beguiled. martyrs of our own invention.
the years were savage. full of perfect lies and solvent truths.
we were desperate. gambling with soiled gowns and broken skin.
so busy falling in love with hell that we didn’t recognize heaven.
we turned on the confessions of time. stalwart orphans in the apocalypse of how. thieves ripe on the tendrils of desire.
choice snarled. hungry for victims.
we crawled out of our fangs. helpless and ferocious. monsters with the faces of men.
the hunt took us away from ourselves. a permanent eclipse.
we bargained with the darkness. giving everything away in search of a light that had long since been extinguished.
time breathed a gentle sigh. the ache in its belly moaned.
there was plenty to kill. but nothing to feed it.
now we weep for the end that has betrayed us. pedestrians stranded between our first step and our last.
stained by the ink of touch. no words. just all the choices that violate.
the subtle monsters crawl under the sheets. the pretentious heroes discards their capes.
softly we wander through the floods that are now receding.
eager to suffocate.
our pennies pierce heavy pockets. sharp with wishes we’ll never make.
the world turns about us. a tornado of might have beens.
now we press the buttons on broken time machines.
the empty corners were patient enough. that we almost forgot they were there. little splinters embedded in the flesh of time.
the machine tensed as we slipped off the brake.
all our choices a euphoria of panic.
the void measured us in the only way it could. soiled sheets in beds we no longer occupy.
we spent our lies on promises we could never keep. until we were bankrupt.
the truth went rancid, but we kept eating.
we own nothing other than what we’ve lost.
we fumbled with the shapes. the truth humming in our heads.
we swelled with the choices. as the flood stole our last breaths.
we were so tired. we slept together on those soiled sheets.
and we were so grateful when we woke up dirty.
we counted every hour as it betrayed us.
we perished in each other’s apocalypse.
and i’d do it again.
the corner turned us. a deliberate conceit. the small creases spread. until they were deep enough to devour.
the little piglet stood in his house. listening to the wolf count down to the apocalypse. gathering all his straw. to set fire to everything.
the forest choked on our apathy as we wandered further into its crevices.
choices like caskets void of bodies.
the monsters made their lists. slips of paper drowned in ink.
we brushed the future’s lips.
and it answered with its teeth.
we teased the machine. as it choked on our antipathy. we waited for the world to end. eager victims in a puzzle of our own creation. sober in our rebellion. drunken in our complacency.
we wore the confession. all quicksand and crutches. the engine choking on our grief.
we were suffocating. our skin too tight on our bones.
rabbits in the darkness. the wolves inching closer.
the fruit on the trees turned rotten. the soil under out feet grew too sharp.
we ran. though every step drew blood.
we ran. because there were so many miles between us.
we ran. to the edge of the world.
only to discover. it had never been the distance that had kept us apart.
an angle too sharp. a turn too abrupt. the moment choked on our anguish.
all the little tears that the edges collect. a suicide of choices in a world that never compromises.
tell me no softly as the scars stiffen around my wounds. discard the cast. these broken pieces will not heal.
lingering in the spoils of time we flourish. caretakers of the past.
we press the arithmetic for numbers. but it so seldom answers. we pull on the needle. but the thread is so delicate.
we ache for every cut that failed to make them bleed.