Thursday 3/02/2017 12:53:00 AM

the quiet savage of time wasted its claws. on dead meat. on sour blood. a shallow of scabs in an ocean of skin.

like the snow. it falls silently. accumulates slowly. but soon we are stranded. powerless. in the subtle rage of things lost. in the terminal ache of daring to want.

empty staircases. wincing under the weight of our momentum. closed doors. scraping against the reach of our accumulating debt.

lies told in earnest. skins too easily slipped.

the bridges breathe. monsters fouling from the depths of our consent. fingers sour with the cold arithmetic of choice.

simple thieves too ready to complicate obvious trespasses.

trust. spent like matches. devoured by its own appetite.

love like fingertips. barely touching the edge.

we tremble. palms up. catching the stones. a storm of numbers. a bankruptcy of flesh. our voices merely pebbles. so small against the deficit.

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