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….
It’s called time, the measuring scale standing between I will and I didn’t
And it’s all a matter of time till I convert promises into regrets
like a jet lagged traveller stuck between date lines and time zones;
I cant be sure that I left those moments behind like a hit and run with no witnesses
Is that why I try to forget more than I try to remember,
I can’t remember what I need to but I remember each moment I fall like I need to…
Time becomes a draw bridge slowly opening and thinning it’s planks into a sheet of paper
so thin that it’s transparent but this moment’s text will forever be recorded onto it
and folded to be tucked underneath my pillow as fodder for my nightmares,
even in my daydreams; my recollection is so vivid that I don’t call it remembering;
I call it time travel and I time travel so often there no longer is a now
just past moments that I’ve experienced much too late,
social cues that have reached their expiry dates.
I wish I could time travel back to the moments where the promises were still fresh
Not even now could pull me back from your smile
Where I am now get’s harder to reconcile
But I know there will be a place there for me to spend a while
