Anamolous Timelines

A leak in the pillow suffocates his stare. We both die traversing the desert between us. Sere skin poisoned by too much sunlight.

All the things meant to keep us alive killing us.

Chasing the vortex. Tiny lions trying to roar. Assembling the universe in sloppy stitches and matted hairs. Lies I've yet to tell to people I still don't know. The black hole of together draws us closer. Tears us apart. We are nothing. Not each other. Nor ourselves. Just pieces constantly coming together and falling apart.

Staring at the mediocrity principle apparent in his empty socks. Explaining to herself why it should matter. Admitting that it never has.

Small universe. Big lies.

The dog's still wagging his missing tail.

I was his wormhole. Packages of future in bundles of past. All wrapped in pretty bows and willing to pretend none of this is real.

Sionara kittens in the backseats of loose fit pants. So many claws. So few scratches.