Thursday 11/23/2017 11:56:00 PM

spend the corners. in seldom skins. the sky is clear. too blue to know. where we are. turn the hours. on sinking stones.

the water is shallow. the miles exhale. hope's stringent breath. no room to drown.

the wood winces. under the weight of our path. sharp turns cut the map. its blood louder with each step.

we're only boxes. waiting to be ticked. measurements in a series of guesses.

the sounds linger. the textures consent. as the paradigm shifts. and choice becomes obsolete.

i could give you yellow, blue or red. any color would be the same. now that the light had left us.

we could trust the bridges to take us there. but we'd only regret it.

Monday 11/13/2017 11:24:00 PM

plastic winds blow the velvet rain. in the direction of our lost.

the end came and went. in soft scabs. in hard surrenders. she drew her pictures. in shattered pencils. and melted crayons. pretending to listen. as the empty hours confessed.

seldom saviors. the measure of their conflict still tender. as the hard math overtook us. skin like cannons. in a war of pleasure.

the gentle poisons time confounds. all bent nails and rusted bullets. amongst the callous pantomine of our want.

the brevity of life all muted screams. and molted skins.

she's red. in the natural turmoil of her thoughts. all swaying bridges. and sour mascara. in the naive epiphany of choice. she's black. everything spent. only the blood still sticking. as wounds evolve to scars.

it's over. or at least it should be. gaunt time machines labor to move us. it's now. the thunder of flesh perpetuating our weakness.

11/06/2017 11:39:00 PM

no turns. only the choke of the path. the hungry soil swallowing our footsteps.

no tomorrow. only the past. louder still with every scrape.

ambivalent predators. tangled in the scent of the hunt.

frailty tallies its jejune epiphanies. while the meat rots. and the bullets stale.

far pretends to measure. close threatens to betray. insisted by our grief. we begin to negotiate with failure.

the gentle thieves administer their bandages. the rest lap at the blood.

the lies leave us limping. the truth forces us crawl.

we're the obvious monsters and we're the subtle ones. the pace of our oblivion uninterrupted.

Adding a link to open mic night at dverse to further the community.

10/30/2017 11:23:00 PM

she said the quiet had become too loud. all broken pencils and cracked chalkboards. in the relentless composite of want.

we searched the silence. stumbling as we did. over the fragile templates flesh insists. hopelessly indebted to the promises of when.

he built his bridges from the memories. hoping she would cross.

they spoiled in their friction. petulant children wanting another piece of candy.

she let the years overtake her. youth a fading treason.

they went there. all the miles churning like syrup. a sweet suffocation.

she was listening to the pain. dancing to its endless song.

10/23/2017 11:36:00 PM

the wind was unconvinced. as we made our way closer to the edge. the faded colors. the broken crutches. all the usual patrons of blood and sweat.

the moment spent her. as moments are just to do. in slips of chaos. in murmurs of gone.

the end of the world came and went. in broken crayons. in puddles of piss.

we die more than enough before it's over. in shallow splinters. in deep bruises. tissue remembers even as we forget. the casual apocalypses of  romance and friendship.

it's loud. until it isn't. the fundamental sober. of liars and lovers.

we'll wait.

there's time enough to regret our choices after we're dead.

Wednesday 10/18/2017 12:22:00 AM

the yellow thump of gratitude struggles. in the vague nausea of partially controlled intersections. the dichotomy of skin fails. as both a deterrant and a catalyst. the pandemonium of want. solves us before we can even begin to parse the math.

we're animals. alive at the corners. dead in the middle.

the maps are loud. the roads are deaf. no language. other than desire. the grim expectations of the wounded.

we find each other. between the raindrops. on the cusp of the wind. we play the game. as if winning is an option.

the distance measures us. in tungsten and sulfur. love our primitive time machine. and the years much too sober.

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