spend the corners. in seldom skins. the sky is clear. too blue to know. where we are. turn the hours. on sinking stones.

the water is shallow. the miles exhale. hope's stringent breath. no room to drown.

the wood winces. under the weight of our path. sharp turns cut the map. its blood louder with each step.

we're only boxes. waiting to be ticked. measurements in a series of guesses.

the sounds linger. the textures consent. as the paradigm shifts. and choice becomes obsolete.

i could give you yellow, blue or red. any color would be the same. now that the light has left us.

we could trust the bridges to take us there. but we'd only regret it.

plastic winds blow the velvet rain. in the direction of our lost.

the end came and went. in soft scabs. in hard surrenders. she drew her pictures. in shattered pencils. and melted crayons. pretending to listen. as the empty hours confessed.

seldom saviors. the measure of their conflict still tender. as the hard math overtook us. skin like cannons. in a war of pleasure.

the gentle poisons time confounds. all bent nails and rusted bullets. amongst the callous pantomine of our want.

the brevity of life all muted screams. and molted skins.

she's red. in the natural turmoil of her thoughts. all swaying bridges. and sour mascara. in the naive epiphany of choice. she's black. everything spent. only the blood still sticking. as wounds evolve to scars.

it's over. or at least it should be. gaunt time machines labor to move us. it's now. the thunder of flesh perpetuating our weakness.

no turns. only the choke of the path. the hungry soil swallowing our footsteps.

no tomorrow. only the past. louder still with every scrape.

ambivalent predators. tangled in the scent of the hunt.

frailty tallies its jejune epiphanies. while the meat rots. and the bullets stale.

far pretends to measure. close threatens to betray. insisted by our grief. we begin to negotiate with failure.

the gentle thieves administer their bandages. the rest lap at the blood.

the lies leave us limping. the truth forces us crawl.

we're the obvious monsters and we're the subtle ones. the pace of our oblivion uninterrupted.

Adding a link to open mic night at dverse to further the community.