Friday 1/27/2006 11:10:00 PM

Angled with the scope of your memory. Past and present toiling together in the prison that is happiness. As you remember it. Or could imagine. Alone is the only true reality.

On the wrong side of the page I wrote. And they couldn't read. Every mirror broken. All reflections too dark to see.

The chance hardened as paint does when exposed. What strokes unfinished preserved forever in the portrait of our reluctance. Every colors as solid as the truths we'd made them from.

People try to be. Always want to. Have. Know. Own each other. But even if we could, what good would it do. Knowing even as we fall to sleep together we'll still wake up alone.

Touching me from so far away can you still feel anything?

We want to be so much. To wrench the world from its throne and crack its crown. But we'll always be the same. Alone.

Bodies collide and we convince ourselves we've escaped. But it's just a different cage inside that same jail.

I used to think I hadn't yet found my home. Still searching for. But now I know where we all belong. Where we all are.


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