Nebulas and Continuums

Long movies at the back of her throat. Silent ones. In black and white. The dialogue of demons unheard. Yet obvious. Waking up is the hardest part of falling asleep. Closing her eyes. Hoping they won't ever open. Resting the bottle beside her words. Wondering. If anyone has heard. The sound. Of letting go.

The aliens under her skin. Searching for a logic. The time machine in her fingertips hustling to take her back. Or forward. It's hard to tell. She doesn't know. If it's the future or the past. It all looks the same. How do I tell where I am. When everywhere I go looks the same?

It's just time she assures herself. The liar in my birthday candles. Assuring me I am old. It's just time. Convincing me I can't remember the things I'll never forget.

Kittens glued to the carpet by claws they can't control. Stories I see no reason to tell. Skin. Velcro ripping away. The future ripe enough to to swallow.