Verdicts

There will be these conversations with the night light. To the tempo of glass limping up crippled stairs. One excuse tumbling into the next in a bulimia of rationale. Binging and purging the sickness into salvation.

There's the sweat of black ink caught under bitten nails. And white paper drowning in what I thought I could draw. Wormholes in subconscious spitting me out into worlds unknown.

There's the girl. The plastic Pinocchio braiding her strings. Ever the martyr. Seducing her villains.

There's the boy swinging with his eyes shut tight. Half way to home base before he's even touched the ball.

There's life. The rule of habeus corpus. No murder until a body is found. There are the lawyers, the moments that try to prove. And there are the judges. On the tip of my tongue.

There was the crime. But it doesn't belong to us anymore.

There was a verdict. In every lover.