Humble Scales

Weighted bridges thrust the rapids too close. The sun gazes in earnest. At our melting toes. It was within reach once. That switch that activates the lamp with the dead bulb in it. I didn't want to posses the light. Just to prove that it exists.

True black is impossible to illuminate. These eyes fare better in darkness. The callous glint of wattage proves only that we are still sleeping. Enrapt by the pitch of stone nightmares we are desperate enough to perceive as dreams.

Weak bridges sway under the pace of ample demons. They pity us. Diligent little ants lost to the throes of the colony. Hate the devil if you must, but he gives me hope. That there is still something worth stealing from our souls.

Laugh. Like no one is listening. Because no one is.

These walls are thick. And inside them it is very quiet.