Sanguine

we were walking. wet dolls arguing with the ocean. we were selling. whatever would cover the cost of hope. umbrellas in the wind. letting the phone ring.

the storm came and went before we had time to realize we had drowned.

we dropped our pennies into the well and listened for the moment of impact. all empty pockets and dirty shoes. as anticipation peeled away our skin.

we’re not monsters, but we resemble them. we’re blind with answers. deaf with questions.

our bodies blunt. though our touch is razors. we want to bleed, but for all the wrong reasons.

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Distance Over Time

several lifetimes later we had found the start. all dry butterflies and worms in the sun.

we pretended to know. because it was expected of us. we spent our stories on the briefest of moments. but they were entirely worth it.

our eyes measured the ladder. while our skin measured the fall.

the choices were loud. as we struck the wind. our pace all road and sinew as we sprinted toward the end. content to fail.

the rain drew its pictures. as i tossed the breadcrumbs I hoped would find us.

life is both a privilege and and a burden.

the pages saturate with words. no one listens.

Low Bridges

we floundered. the winter unwilling to end. too cold to know how to begin. we spent our skin on the chessboard of touch. Shamelessly sacrificing our queen.

the map was heavy with paper and panic as we traced the blood back to empty veins.

we raged at the chemistry of when. killing time with lies and broken glass. arranging our grief by color and weight.

the end stumbles. and we take our only chance to run ahead.

the end hisses and bites. injecting its venom.

and we are satisfied.

because the poison was all that we ever wanted.

Differentials

the air weighed too much. the ground was too rigid.

their bodies limped along. ignoring exhaustion.

she dreamt. strange dreams. colorful and chaotic. severe with intimacy. callous with precision.

they spent. their days like years. they consumed their hours like months. embracing the blood as the bandages lost their purchase. on wounds that should’ve long since healed.

it’s only skin she reasoned as the bone poked through the flesh. it’s always been broken. we’re only now just noticing it.

Dark Poetry: Pedestrian Crossing

the distance took us. pieces at a time. we were content to be broken. we were young enough to still believe puzzles could solve us.

time’s sunburn coloring our touch. memory’s elastic distorting our closeness.

we wear the world as tight as its willing to fit. but it stretches. and the fabric forgets. how small we’ve become. how enormous every breath is.

our stories churn. aboill beneath our skin. the cradle of want sways. a funeral of sorts. in the dead of our contrition. cutting against the grain.

no blood. only the empty theater of touch.

Derelict Demons

the corner took us. a subtle rape. it left the skin on the bones, but consumed all the meat. we were empty. trying to remember ourselves. creating mirrors from grief. building bridges with our shame.

the miles found our skin. hope’s persistent virus always doling out its poison. alive by our proximity to death.

the obvious monsters not withstanding.

the moment simmers. set upon time’s stubborn flame. the years boil over. still we are not changed.

the math is callous. the geometry cruel. as it peels away the layers.

it tasks us with chasing the sun. but only the darkness forgives.

Riddles

we came. swallowing the sun. conspicuous thieves. our satchels empty. our fingers broken.

we left. chewing on the mountains. obvious assassins. our crutches cracked. our skin curdling.

time refracting. a prism of when. the nature of our resolve still debating the depths of its struggle.

the primal of the hunt invading the subtlies of evolution. the stroke of ignition. awakening the beasts below.

the hour simmers. evaporates. until each memory condensates. and disappears into entrophy’s reluctant oblivion.

we spend our lives dying. struggling to live.