Tuesday 11/10/2009 01:25:00 AM

The next day. It bold reparation. For too many nights before. She takes off her face. The eyes underneath. Calmly detached from. The things we once thought mattered to us.

Lazy jigsaws work their pieces into the hole we've yet to fill. The words tumble. A string of dominoes. Set off by a tiny piece of skin. I've waited. Too long. For the heroes to catch up to villains.

I'd rather save myself.

No winter has an end. No summer a beginning. We just wait. Cut flowers. Manic Rasputin's. Fiddling with the magic of how to contain the strong. Using the sword. Encouraged by the blood on its handle.

To stab the dead.

Terrified by the corpses that our actions create.

I just listen deafly. To the words on their graves. Repeating. It's over. I write those letters. And never send them.

I count those hours. Again and again. In search of my time machine.

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