the lies tell us when the truth is insufficient. our cages become us. until we forget that we’re prisoners. we chase the edge. thieves high on the hunt. we crouch in the deepening distance. pretending to chase the monsters that are hunting us.
we rage against time. delusion our only weapon.
the dolls slip out of their dresses. plastic skin and heavy scars confront us. the pendulum still swings. in either direction.
the clock still ticks. taking away the luxury of choices.
her lips move, though no words are said. her fist clenches. though she possesses nothing.
The Center of the World
the silence stuck her. like an empty needle promising drugs. life spun in steep staircases and hollow attics. she chased the end. a dog biting at its tail. the world thick with impositions as she waited to die.
the shapes came into focus. though the words were still absent.
she idled in the vacancy between life and living. impotent.
a bullet without a gun.
tomorrows came and went. too many to count. an eternity of mercies wasted on suffering.
humanity’s arrogance weighs on her bones.
still, even as they break, it shows no mercy.
Internal Cages
we were helpless. masters of our oblivion. all our gestures empty. the slur of hungry skin. all our clothes stained. suffocating under the fantasy of change.
we fought the wind. knowing it would always win. we took the slope. knowing that we had no brakes. the impact our only incentive. as the pain tempted a life we’d yet to live.
the music peaked. and we fell under its weight. crushed by the urgency of our grief.
we trembled against the thunder of circumstance. paper left out in the rain.
dissolved. all the words washed away.
Screams That Can’t Be Heard
time festered in the crevices of our skin. we touched the bottom. to see how deep it was. stunned to discover how eager it was to drown us.
we counted the pebbles as the tide negotiated our desperation.
the day was loud. the distance deaf. as we chased a horizon that was always ahead of us.
there’s no memory that burrows as deeply. there’s no clock that chimes as sharply as loss.
we fester in the evolution of touch. naked dolls. our stained clothes discarded.
we steal the lipstick from time’s vanity case. determined to be beautiful to someone no matter the cost.
as we struggle for truth we learn that everything is pencil marks. the ink evaporates.
we collapse under the weight of expectation. the broken needles still dancing in our veins.
the world shouts. hope is only a whisper.
Buoyancy
we spent our grief in nickels and dimes. spare change.
our debt exceeded us. we marveled at the thickening scabs of broken flesh.
the wounds had taken us this far. the fractured bones had spent their marrow on the infectious whims of touch.
and dwindling choices.
we opened our umbrellas as the storm commenced.
cloaked in our caution.
it wasn’t long before the truth was drowning us.
Pulling Threads
small as we are we shrink smaller still. sparrows in the shadows of eagles. pebbles in the depths of the ocean.
the straining threads begin to come apart. the waning lessons mostly forgotten. on the brink of tomorrow we are all children. vulnerable and uncertain. as the future collapses in on itself.
time whispers. a devious poet with endless pages to fill.
we snarl. dogs on short leashes. unaware of how we came to be owned.
we listen from inside our prisons as the future boasts freedoms we’ve never known.
the end closer than it’s ever been.
Conditional Statements
the quiet walls listen while our words disappear. the empty rooms watch as our memories vanish.
there’s the thunder of how. there’s the murmur of why. the insatiable arithmetic of skin. we scratch our numbers into each other. and wait for the gamble to turn a profit.
time chews softly on tender bones. as we continue to limp toward impossible utopias.
tomorrow’s wolves lick the wind and taste our weakness. we’re marked for the hunt.
the heavy door closes softly. there’s nowhere left to go. we linger in our choices. slouching against hope’s bloody grin.
Fractions of Want
we broke our crayons on the paper. grieving after the colors lost. we told our stories in stale bread and empty coffee cups. pretending to know what normal was.
our thoughts suffocating in a din of changes. the swagger of soldiers. and the arrogance of kings. all the vicious methods we use to turn belief into facts.
i wondered. after the exceptions. the stale breadcrumbs that had led the wolf to us.
we fought over the math. the relentless logic that continued to pull on our zippers.
the puzzle tried to listen. but we only saw the pieces.
life’s blade continued to cut.
we found the bottom. not long after it had found us.
Flight Patterns
we lost the path. too much rain and wind. our time machine throbbed in our skin. its voracious engine devouring our fragile plans.
we unfolded our map. ignoring all the tears. we plotted our course. navigating for monsters and men. gathering the cold arithmetic of dwindling moments.
we cut the ropes. letting the noose die without purpose. we stole the windows from their houses. forcing the light to find another way in.
we danced with the toothless ogres. as apathy made us courageous.
time simmered. all placebo and panic. as we gave the disease a name.
we discarded our wings as we drew closer to the sun. eager to lament the consequences.
Next to Nothing
we purchased the colors. we collected the sounds.
we tore the moment into so many pieces. throwing our stones at the empty mirrors. insisting something must be broken.
all the weather in our voices. all the storms in our anticipation. spilling out as tomorrow dismissed our grief.
we’re ripe with small cuts that never heal. bruised fruit cut away from the skin. we’re thieves in emperor’s robes. our masks only just beginning their evolution. our weakness just beginning to find its strength.
we’re screaming at the darkness. but it’s not listening.
