Fractures

One sermon is enough. The night ferments and guilt is distilled from. Lips tug hard on the last of those bubbles. The empty container begs to be replenished.

Especially since.

We calculate time as it does us. Tabulating reasons to live as death confronts.

In the darkness its face does form. In your solitude you remember how close you once were to. That blade as it caressed your skin. And promised to open every vein one knot at time until there were only echoes left in.

One night tells more. Another tells me less. But the voice I need to hear says nothing since.

The hour is propelled by the lunge of your loneliness. As it feels for that switch. To turn on again all those dark fixtures.

The hue of my skin is paler now. The gallop of my heart somewhat crippled. As it runs on across fields parched. And tramples every flower in.

To stop now would leave me so the same. To continue no different.

So I go where memory neglects. And still is given time to heal like a broken bone within its cast.