the knob was loose as we started up the machine. a pandemonium of minutes collapsing into years.
the corners stole our direction. the distance destroyed our perspective.
the hungry kite gobbled up the wind. tugging on its string until all our fingers were raw. gravity bit its tongue. and time became a cure.
patience fetched its stories. dubious potions of truth and expectation. all the obvious demons. and the ones that sneak under our skin.
the lies were gentle.
torn skirts sold their zippers.
the engine grieved. for chances not taken. and the ones that betrayed us.
the truth grew louder as our locks rejected their keys.
we threw our stones at the glass.
but it had always been broken.