the hinge surrenders to its arc. the space. the thunder. of curious happenstance. she chisels. picking at the edges. seldom corners manipulate the scars. the texture of when. the sting of how. the subtle collision of circumstance. that solves for if.
stained dolls. in their open dresses. the sober geometry of all the things we want. dense circles pounding on the diameter. weak numbers struggle against the sway of experience. the fickle of lust. seldom surrenders, but is always lost.
an ambush of certainty. the rigid grin of want. stabs the moment. in a murder of touch.
the hours bite. indifferent fangs. they swallow. without hesitation. mired in the freedom of monsters. small in the shadow of when.
the years diminish. we slip further away. nothing changes, except us.
choices... nickels and dimes. eventually add up. the end so certain. yet the beginning still to be determined.
a series of sharp hungers. each more urgent than the last. a panic of love. much better starved than fed.
Monday
1/20/2014 11:52:00 PM
Sad Labels:
loneliness
,
lost
,
retrospect
,
weakness
Post a Comment