A bulb. Sharp glass. Rays of pain.
Your eyes and the car’s headlights.
I felt the cold cold pain of the metal in your knee
Rushing through my damaged brain
and I realized
that I should have known
that perhaps I knew
that I still don’t know
just how dead are you?
From blank screens to broken walls
Salted water lingers on umbrellas
Your tiny finger is dry
Far too dry to lick the wire.
Somewhere in the past
Fabric is turning into flesh
While I cast the wheel of Fate
Turning our babbles into neat web
Catching your unpredictable thoughts
Burning my moist disgust
Blurring our lives
In words.
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