Thursday 4/06/2006 09:51:00 PM

The slope of survival infers my triumph and my treason.

Wearing your Archimedes grin. Yes, you have found me.


My Pontius. My Pilate. My verdict.

To lose myself in my vitriol. Condemning not myself. Only them.

It's better when it hurts. Old witch hazel on fresh wounds. Peel away the gauze. And all the scabs that have grown on it.


Over and under.


I am a river red. It moves these words. Scrape the edges. Staining them.

It'd be so much better if you could still hurt me. Your soft eyes cutting me in half.

It'd be better now, if someone could still do that.

Make me human again.

Give me your word and I will take it. I'll never give it back.


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