The Determined Pendulum

I'm at the bottom. Still falling.

With every angle I saw us. Refracted and bent. Moments spoiling for more than mere seconds. To find each other. A relentless gravity. Whispering in my ear. That I was getting closer.

In every way I could I wore the shame. The need inside like rotting wood. Dark and moist and crumbling with expectation.

I was a caterpillar. Spinning an urgent cocoon. Unaware that it had missed its moment. Dead inside a failed opportunity for transformation.

I'm full. Sick with the taste of strangers. Starved inside the infinity of my own skin. Grabbing. Clutching. Everything there is to hold. Owning nothing.

I put time into a box. A small gift for a seldom friend. And I waited for it to be received. Humbled by the slow arc of life's pendulum that would decide whether or not I would be remembered.

I was loud and small as we so often tend to be. Just weak enough to want to be condemned.

A face without lips. Stealing a kiss. A stare without eyes. Pretending to look. For what was never there. An impotent ghost. Haunted by its houses.