Predictions

liars. helium skin. the weight of nothing so heavy. broken turns. torn maps. the distance between touch and surrender only inches.

she draws. vacant needles feign to know the path of her blood. the orbit of flesh. as scars play to the sun. the spark of death as she wonders how distant that vein really is. the joker perched on his walls. a colorless vulture. dining hungrily on the carcass.

I'm too old to believe that the world is mine. too young to accept that it's not.

the words are like predators. assuming I will run. But I don't. They tire themselves out chasing shadows.

I continue counting. Confident in the math.

Every night the world ends. And I allow it. Because otherwise it would get too close. And this dying would be too hard.

the dogma of skin pretends her. in cold repetitions of pleasure. her last pawn chases the king. On an empty board.

she runs away. but it chases. the broken colors. the ugly chains. the mania. of how close we came. to wanting more.

Flesh negotiating saviors. one lies at a time.