Surface Pressure

Eyes like stones. Small shards of what once was a massive boulder. Kisses like paper cuts. No blood. Just broken skin. Rivers of shame carving arrows through the flesh. In quiet apocalypses.

Time on its pedestal. The minutes buzzing like flies. Over the spectacle. The open graves. As the numbers turn to corpses. Subtracting. Not winning. Only cheating the start. Multiplying. Not arriving. Just pretending it's gone.

The villains know their algebra. The equations of evil stem from good intentions. The heroes know their physics. One atom. That's all that's needed. To save the world. But neither of them can explain. Why it's worth saving.

In a cellar of dirty dolls and cracking glass. Good and evil are a crippling cliche. Everything is a war. Cold fingers scour the darkness for new wounds. For a better Satan. One that can cure me of these useless angels in my head.

Every choice has its end. Every surface. No matter how strong. A weight at which it gives.