spent skins. gloating on the preposterous alibis of cowardly hearts.
little lies. to manufacture the impossible happiness of powerless men.
as if there is a door to go through. or a place to find. that could negotiate with this indifferent universe. or justify our selfihsness.
it's nothing. it's everything. what i want melting. like random icicles clinging to life's parenthesis.
bruised fists beating the wind. no blood anymore. just the diminishing ache. the music fading. as the song finds its finish.
it was a comfort. for a while. it was a burden too. trying so hard to see the other side of the glass. all those reflections getting in the way.
it was static. the choices all venom. the questions all fangs. the poison. the numbness all too willing to spread.
proximity's crude equations. wearing the worst of our awkward arithmetic. hope swelling like an infection from inside persistent wounds.