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.
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.
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.
the chaos spent us. small change in a wealth of grief. the future turned on its axis. we were drowning in symptoms without a name for the disease.
we crossed the lonely streets. we shouted at the lingering clouds. full of words and desperation. we tore apart the puzzle pieces.
no picture left to solve. no challenge outside of our pain. we saw the bullet approaching, but couldn’t compensate for its speed.
the maze came apart. the puddles gathered the rain. the monsters removed their masks. and we knew it was too late.
i knew the edge long before i knew what it meant. a paradox of truths that narrows the creases between us.
the awkward squares that collapse to let the corners touch. the impossible diagonals that teach the surface to bend.
sober is a fickle companion. hope is a seldom friend. we gather our choices in torn pockets. and let what is lost consume us.
time’s scattered confessions tease the precipice. as we settle in to these empty skins.
it’s cold, she said. her voice heavy with a waning happiness.
the darkness barked. let off its lease. it bit down hard again.
where to begin. where to end. they feel the same. the unstable precipice upon which she’s always lived.
the accumulating years denser now. as the surface rises and she struggles to float.
the empty shoes that wear her no more. the discarded paths that have forgotten her footprints. the tiny holes in her armor that let the light in are beginning to close.
some choices are ours to make. others belong entirely to circumstance.
the void swells. dense with expectation. life tumbles. all half built bridges and missing punctuation.
we’re helpless. we just don’t know it.
the truth whispers gently. while the lies shout at us to believe them.
we reach for the familiar. bruised crayons and shrinking pictures. as life struggles against impossible circumstances.
we lie and say we’re not afraid. but fear is all we have left.
the future shrinks. while the world expands. as everything unravels. we chase the threads.
sometimes murmurs beneath the air. the sheen of darkness encases every breath.
nothing. everything. stubborn corners in the geometry of our rage.
down the stairs. into the gray. where death taps on the window, but can’t come in.
love, trust. shame. so many missing equations in the evolution of our pain.
apple eyes and ginger tears. the sweet tart epiphanies of decaying lives.
the shadows wilt. the silence betrays. times pauses at the threshold of another day.
never before. never again. only what remains.
the folds intersect. a casual symmetry of choices. until the creases grow weak. and the angles become rigid.
sixty degrees of flesh struggling in a paper skeleton. the dead chasing frozen second hands.
tomorrow is. was. will be. the infinite conundrum of breath. even as all the muscles fail. life maintains its progress.
the dark sky. the missing stars we know were there a lifetime ago. their long extinguished light. hat somehow still feels real.
we trace the patterns. the cold sheets of time that make our beds. we shiver on the precipice of sleep. both afraid to dream and afraid to wake up.
maybe we’re already dead. all our corners turned. all of our ashes scattered.
the tether of gravity a distant laugh. as time dissolves in a whisper of chagrin.
our seldom flesh grieving too loudly. as we negotiate our fading skeletons.
the ugly bite of choice and skin releasing its venom.
life in hiccups and vomit. all creases and ink. in books no one’s written.
we revel in our diseases. we rejoice in our sickness.
convinced life is infinite even as it slips from our grasp.