Sunday 3/28/2010 01:39:00 AM

Working with the numbers. Fiddling with the scars. Telling their stories in bits of when. The fire had not reached the exit.

We like to say that the world is ours. But then it swallows us and we don't know who's at fault. We like to imagine that the world waits on our every decision. When we get what we want we say it's god's will. When we don't we blame the devil.

Working the numbers. Toying with the abstract. She finally decided it was close enough. Tiny knives flirting with empty dresses. Lonely people pretending they were invited.

Either way the party goes on. Doling out glass dolls like dirty pennies. Shoving their flesh into empty vending machines. Stubborn children. Peddling their lies. To any men still fool enough to listen.

I couldn't wake her. She said we were drowning. But here I am. Still breathing.

A porch light in the rain. A stray. Accusing. My savior.

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