Proper Fictions

time spit us out. rancid and unrepentant. teasing the softer angles. scribbling on the torn edges.

we live in the spaces between then and now. ghosts with familiar faces. playing hopscotch in the wormholes that we’ve yet to solve.

all the colors. all the words. like trembling bridges. that never reach the other side.

we’re victims. we’re villains. stuttering to learn the difference. choking on the fictions that keep us alive.

we pound on the door of yesterday. flaunting our matchsticks.

we measure the flame in the choices we have made.

content to let the fire decide.