Monday, March 11, 2013


I'm never there until I'm needed so I'm never really there at all. Just the scribbling on an envelope, the press of pretty words. Just the answers to unasked questions and the rigors of the clock. All the rules written to hold dear and clasp tight. All the lies alright as long as we get what we want. Even the reasons they claim are past believing. My life story, and I can't be bothered to show.

There is no try, there is no trust. Everything laid out right there on the table. Every story told just to tell you so. The heart wants and wants with the discipline of a pendulum, the river of blood and the river of tears indistinguishable in this light. Sift through the shards and stir the embers. Someone might speak if the words work out. Someone might begin as if there was still a life.

I will sit and write my letters. I will keep my promised paperwork. The day begins so dull and broken. A life withered down to a husk stirred by bugs and wind. That forever Jack O Lantern feel of always being on the wrong end of your reason, the season seems so cold and dry. Useless, I extend my stay, unwanted and unasked for. I arrive a little too late for exposition, this story only meant to meet its end.

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