casual conditions divide. word from warmth. touch from skin. time is a parable. and we are the lessons. frail morals consigned to a dark corner of when. the confessions of shadows were more observation than truth.
touch is a parody. a satire of how much it hurts to want.
the panicked sobs of children. their mothers out of sight. gone.
the numbers rotate. their cycle dense with pause. long tape measures bite back hard on that hand that tried to prove how far. the witches with their cauldrons. decimals punctuate their spells. not enough. the angels with their wings. fractions of heaven play like a puzzle. i'll no doubt put together once i've found all the pieces.
like the ax to the wolf's belly. as blunt as it is effective.
the breadcrumbs of orphans are not meant to be followed.
Saturday
4/09/2011 01:08:00 AM
Sad Labels:
acceptance
,
loneliness
,
retrospect
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