And what does it say about people that we all walk around with a hand on our wrist
your glassy grips,
bruises on the forearm in the morning -don’t say one word about it, but you twist your bones around uncomfortably and
I wish I could see more than aftermath.
Four weeks later they find a mass of fleshy waste caught in the mangroves. You forget how things relate
What does SILENCE really mean and is there more weight in silence of all words or just
o n e?
(maybe just your name)
Nobody kisses you goodnight but there is something pleasant about complete dissatisfaction. You’re not even close. If you had the energy to hold to your convictions perhaps
you’d have the self restraint not to scream AND FUCK YOU down the corridor with the thirteen scars you’re carrying on your left thigh-
you wanna take away container for those? You wait for someone to punch you in the face, but there’s no violence at funerals.
And the spider caught in your hair also made a lot of mistakes, kept a hot blade under his arm, swung a shovel around the back of his father’s skull
Is this a new day? Can time refresh itself? The wound began to bleed and it never stopped and it never ran dry.
Is time a straight line or a circular one? A huge mass like the ocean? Or nothing? Or everywhere? At what point, along whatever plane or non-plane, did I fall in love with you? And how do I stop?
you try to unfurl the fingers cutting into your forearm again;
you find you’ve run out hands.
I’m afraid of you. I want to lie