Browsing Softly in Hard Escapes

Turmoil crowned in its vapid jewels. Like we were once so indebted to the choke of weakness. Heavy crowns tarnished kindly by fate's soft smirk. Ambivalent fingers shuffle the men. On the stiff checkerboards we've poorly painted. There is never time enough. Never a chance to go back and say it as you heard it your head. While they laid beside you. Obese balloons bargaining with gravity for a little more string.

If we were. That close.

Soft gods in their coffins. Drowning in the funerals of men.

Overwhelmed by the approach of skin. As it sprints to cover every hole.

Then we still are. Always will be.

Weak enough.