The water surrounds us. It always has. I've only just begun to notice how shallow our prison.
it's the end of the world. it always is. everything is burnt matches and cigarette butts.
I asked him why. he didn't understand. his words snake bites. bits of poison to steal some blood. and leave me spoiling for a cure.
he asked me why. i couldn't answer. just crayons and condoms making their art from our panicked detours.
all creases and smudges. as skin gives way to reason.
the nervous abstract. the reluctant addict. the arrogant numbers that decide how far. all wind and sweat on roads that rarely remember.
the wonderful paradox of fresh scabs on old wounds.