the midnight side

The smoke really does a number and the fire just won’t die. The pained heart and the harrowed breath, the labor quick to betray the failings of the frame. The wheel so dire and so drear. The curve learned from clockworks, the verdict rendered by the drape. Time doesn’t always take. Mortality’s a workaround.

The hours crawl and the malady seethes, the hobble built into hop along, the name hitched to the old heave ho. The weight of the unfazed sky hauling off and hitting me like a ton of, the bare knees of love all bump and bruise. All our done dailies passed on to the unseen crown. These dark deeds the bread we break. The night reels, and the dance claims us all.

The flash fire and the slow burn, the words run wild and the world bites down. I am the ache in the mirror. I am the bat by the door. The flushed compulsion and the allotted consequence. I slow the story to a crawl. The bitter tongue and the harvest bloom, this taste of flowers chilled on the midnight side. It is early, but I know you’re sleeping. I say your name and I am speaking in dreams.