and those black stitches searing the head.
And; because I didn’t say the first thing on my mind.
better to die averse,
than live as proof to another?
Another, because One is predecessor
Alone, a metal table under burning light,
tall menial men draping scrubs
with silver rods picking the brain—
And she is watching from a distance,
breaking her vow to quit cigarettes.
and i yell. Loud.
but all ever i do is
Like the surface mirror, I only share
A quarter of what I feel
And anger is like my father—
consuming my habits like a screeching storm.
And: the subsequent to change.
I am change,
or at least I must be.
Aren’t we all the seasons?
doubt, redress, time repressed,
purple today, emerald tomorrow
Are we all not blind
for someone to follow?
and she finally quit
the cancer sticks,
and my head
heals pinkish limp,
But years like money only matter in moments.
And i must change or fodder fortune,
Wilting the womb,
nameless conception presented
to gates of Hell;
saturated we, stare at pennies like minutes,
appointing our fingers the heir to judgment,
And I am nothing. No more than the day.
And between words exists the only emotion we have ever known,