And yesterday still knocks me down.

Thread bare tendons snapping back and forth like a can to can phone line in a tug of war.
I’m trying to get through to you by tip toeing on this unsteady connection.
Put away your shuffling dancing feet so I can talk to you for a moment.
Why must you insist on existing past me;
Rain dancing to the drums of a forgotten chest beat.
Heart beating so fast and full that it nearly shattered my rib cage.
Your dance brought my tears and my tears brought the flood.
Yesterday’s wounds weren’t properly scabbed over though I’m on the mend.
You still look at the words “I love you”, distrustfully, holding them in your hands awkwardly like they would poison you if they broke or as if to ask “What am I to do with this?”.
If I had to write a manual to accompany them, it would read “Love me back”…
Learn to advance your sense of worry, anxiety is only rational because she’ll say goodbye soon.

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Pull The Choke Chain Tight pt1.

The city looks like a cardboard cut-out from here.
It looks like time sweated dust out from a collective cosmic desperation
And the city took a deep inhale of it like it was huffing on a giant cigarette
Then coughed it out into an explosion of giant dust clouds and particles.
It looks like God performed Seppuku and the city is one of her stiffened rotting entrails
If this city is not proof that God is dead then I don’t know what is….

Writing Forever

I’m writing forever into my notebook,

using the letters of eterny;

crunching down on the keys of ever more,

I’m trying to picture it from shut eyes

but all I can see is a red blocked out version of daylight

This is not a smile, it’s a grimace,

I’m trying to hold the tears back

because I’m trying to illustrate forever from the fibre of my broken paint brush

But I can’t tame these hands,

Only if I could tame these hands

They wouldn’t shake every time the clock struck now

Only if I could stop ticking along to the second hand

but on second thought,

doesn’t the whole world revolve around second hand thoughts?

don’t we switch at a pendulum swing?

between the minute made smiles

and the hours you spend isolated underneath the islands of your eyelids

You could picture forever when you were alone but it felt so tedious

You could give its likeness to a police sketch artist

But all you’d eventually come up with is a blank page,

all negative space

because forever paints self portraits

And writes it’s own stories with us as supporting characters

While we’re too busy observing to live

We draw ourselves, drawing ourselves and call it life