Thursday 5/03/2007 11:53:00 PM

He had the hammer close to his chest. A camp out. In the wilderness referred to as touch. An empty sleeping bag under his breath snoring out a thoughtless ballad. The cold enthusiasm that trademarked every kiss.

A contract. A mortgage against. Enemies and suitable friends.

In stages our eagerness would draw itself on the window. Like the birth of darkness whispers over the sun. In pale gags that crescendo into puke. The world out there simmered in each of us. Until sickness again saved us from ourselves.

The habit. Black and white as it is. The addiction. Frail suspect in the investigation. The crime a mercy killing. A cruel euthanasia extracted from each attempt.

Listening for the moment. The eruption of the metaphor. A volcano vomiting the past in angry kabobs. The discipline and the catastrophe of reasoning with my heart. Giving the truth away in awkward sobs.

It doesn't matter since I don't want it anymore. The perfume. The smell of disbelief. Discarded candy wrappers littering the floor of our hearts. Just the paper they've left enough to tempt.

1 comments:
De.vile said...

Your metaphors are stunning as usual. Sometimes I think I know what it all means but then again it doesn't seem like I do



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