Thursday 9/12/2019 12:01:00 AM

softly the thoughts built inside us. carbon and light kicking and punching at the black holes embedded in our skin.

we were already dying. what was one more dose of poison.

time was eloquent. and sinister. the devil in a tuxedo made of glass.

the sparkle blinded us. the glamour confounded. we navigated on instinct and fear. feasting on the distance. only needles and lies for language.

our weakness was a comfort. fumbling at the day. with our broken pencils and burnt matchsticks.

hard candy left in the sun.

we don't break. we suffer.

the end doesn't arrive. it simmers.

time digs its tunnels. hollowing us out until the void is all that's left.

Wednesday 9/04/2019 11:33:00 PM

She felt heavy, yet empty. And wondered how that could be possible.

The anxiety in her head buzzed brightly. A song she'd listened to on repeat since she was a child. A dreadful Morse code  pleading for rescue to an unmanned outpost.

Time is particular. Flesh is finicky.

It was still summer, but it already felt like winter.

We wander this damp carnival. Imagining prizes and cotton candy. As all the tents deflate. A cacophony of  choice and misdirection. The clever accessories of arrogant strangers.

The world was thick and moist inside her head. A stubborn virus.

She pulled her pillows closer and waited for reality to recede.

She wanted to pick her battles, but there were just too many from which to choose.

She wanted to tell her child it would get better, but she couldn't lie to her.

Monday 9/02/2019 11:50:00 PM

it's cold in the shallows of our loss. a solvent departure from flesh and bone. we're animals in the written sense. meat and hunger in a grim symbiosis.  Everything else is poetry. the whims of friction and circumstance. as they manipulate the lives we only chanced to live.

it's loud in the pivot. all our leverage lost. testing our scabs against the sharper corners. healed in only the most limited sense.

we're primates. not predators. most of us.

the slope accuses. we try to remember. when we were that high. if we ever were. and how far below the bottom sits.

we close the curtain. sick with the world. broken pencils stabbing at words just out of reach.

we spill into the shadows. ghosts of our own expectations.

dead for years.

8/26/2019 12:01:00 AM

She sat at the desk that was too big for her. Doing her best to seem appropriate. Life has maps only in the figurative sense. Everything is theoretical. Slinkies tumbling down shaky staircases. Gravity the culprit and the hero.

Time sputtered and ground against her flesh. A weary engine running on the fumes of a youthful rebellion long since abandoned. Life is a series of debits and credits. A long, long reverse mortgage. At the end of which you have nothing other than sacrifices.

It's just money changing hands. Poverty and wealth spitting and punching until someone rings a bell.

The road was soft as she began her run. It was years since she had loved. A foggy dream from which she'd never fully awoken.

The house where she'd grown up stood in the distance. A hungry stare in the fist of the sunset.

She kissed her daughter.

Growing up she never had imagined herself a mother. It wasn't something she ever aspired to be. But now that she was, it felt inevitable. As ripe as a fruit too heavy for the branch on which it had blossomed.

Yet oily with questionable consent.

She touched her daughter's head and did her best not to be scared.

Tuesday 8/20/2019 11:14:00 PM

The engine was still running on the mid 2000 corolla. In a lazy suburban garage. The cabin sexy with the toxic fumes. Her body was dead inside it.

She woke up somewhere else. There was a bottle of vodka on a slick marble table. A single crystal glass with two cube of ice. There was a thin, dark skinned man sitting there. He looked like he would host a talk show on day time TV. One where people shouted at each other and threw chairs before finally disintegrating into sobs. He looked like he was intimately acquainted with insomniacs, atheists and suicide.

She knew he was waiting for her to sit down and pour herself a drink.

I am quite real he said to her as she took her place in the empty chair. I am God and I am real. You were as wrong as you were right. You atheists kill me. So confident you know something the whole rest of the world doesn't. You do. And you don't.

I exist, but not in the way everyone believes. I'm thoughts. I'm desperation. I'm need and hope. I'm hopelessness and hatred. I'm the manifestation of the thoughts of billions of people. I'm a lie willed into existence.

Sit with me. Let's talk for a while. You've got nothing, but time.

I'm dead?

You are, but you're not.

There's more. It's just not how people imagine it. It's not beautiful. It's hard. Like life is. It's soft. Like a first kiss. It's a thunderstorm choking on the horizon. It's the piercing hum of cicadas on a muggy summer night. It's the tremble of a single snowflake in a relentless blizzard.

Flesh is an extension of the universe. It's atoms and molecules. It's electricity and inertia. It doesn't wink out of existence. It degrades. It dissolves. It's digested back into the matter all around it.

So you're not real?

I am not.

But you exist?

I do.

So I was right?

You were.

But I was wrong?

You are.

Everyone is.

8/20/2019 12:30:00 AM

time drifted through her veins. a lazy metronome. as the end came into focus. she imagined bombs and radiation. but instead, it was just words. cruel things people could say. maddening breaches of logic used to justify hatred.

it was eventual. A considerate stopwatch. counting the seconds in correlation to our arrogance. the frozen ladder of patience quivering against the strong winds of our altitude.

the blade cut. we bled. everything else was lost.

the fever of the high as we crested the hill. the sober of the winter as the cold overtook us.

we were never so young as we were then. pulling on the threads. as the seams opened up. wagering the hours in a fever of grief. the colors faded. the virus spent. we were young, but not young enough.

we argued with the apocalypse. spoiled and defiant. we soared over the edge. never thinking for a second that gravity would win.

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