There's a nasty impermanence in the air,
with the cold.
As I see my breath, I see what's next.
A soldiering on of the highest degree,
In pursuit of something that seems to be necessary.
A trudging on of tired feet, we meet in corridors for a minute
A minute of infinity.
Suddenly it seems, infinity has shrunk,
Not unlike Alice.
Our Prison turns to Palace,
We make promises, more minutes to come,
and then the best of us are up and gone.
Diaspora of the minds,
bodies,
souls,
People we can say we've always known.
The next moment is cherished,
the next few are farther between,
and next you know,
lines appear in faces once smooth,
until the faces come forth again, but different.

There's a moment,
some once, not someone
It rests between a before and an after,
Between a then and a now.

I'm sitting.
I'm sitting, and the sun is shining onto my dashboard.
I'm sitting and I'm getting sweaty because there you are,
quite simply sitting next to me and the world seems to be closing in.
Quite presently, in fact.

Quite presently, as well, I'm quite afraid I may close to lose my mind
and my marbles,
and my willpower.
I'm quite afraid of quite a lot, I'm quite afraid.

At this moment, when this moment was the here and the now,
the one you're supposedly supposed to live in,
I would have died and gone to heaven just to hold your hand.
Just touch me, please just touch me.

Instead, in an Olympic Feat
I reach across the center console.
"Act before you have time to think," you think.
I kissed you.

If I'm itching inside my own skin,
If there's a bit of wild carrying on in,
around,
or perhaps behind
perhaps over, around, somewhere besides my eyes,
If I seem unseemingly unladylike today,
I'm sorry.
Scatterbrained? Surely, certainly, you've noticed.
If you know me, you know this.
I carry on, convincingly
all the while my mind careens away.
Dangerously, it careens away.
Away, attacking the menacingly mundane,
away to a place much more pleasant.
Plesently, myriad of melodrama unfold.
I tell myself stories untold.
I'm so sorry I'm scatterbrained, darling.
I do know.

Welcome to the generation of revolution,
Millions and counting, in a few years you’ll be counting on us.
While some of us still use a pass for the bathroom, we’ve been programmed
Much like the devices you tie us to,
To look forward.
The skills you instilled for GPAs and resumes have made us unafraid to say
That something needs to be done, and from that you run away
If we don’t agree we’re immature, uninformed, need to be kept quiet more.
You say we’ve become slaves to the almighty “I”
But we scourge for information
Because we’ve seen a tweet change lives
We’ve seen a hashtag bring millions into the fight,
Artists, victims, protests blow up overnight
We are the first generation with the world at our fingers in such a real way,
Here we are, standing stronger than you’ve seen us,
These kids; you cloth, shelter and feed us,
Just to call us lazy and insane for using the very brains that you instilled,
The “common core” you used, because you didn’t want to build a generation of robots,
Fear not, guess what, you didn’t.

I find it funny that the boy who bandaged my battered self,
sat me on a bench with razor blade rakes on my hips and heart, could be so hypocritical.
He told me I was silly, selfish to think these things and act according to impatience and impulse
And now he “needs” the needles and swears by the smoke that fills the space between us and ** I’m scared he’s headed for a place that not even I’ve been.
The end.
You always think you’ve found it, and then another minute passes
And another,
And then you realize that everything is infinite and inescapable.
Terrifying and terribly reassuring, all at once.

I am a necromancer, the skeletons in your closet work for me.
Fear naught, I'm just the doctor arrived too late,
it's not as if you could escape,
Your secrets, I see them, the dead do tell tales.
Don't lie, for those laying under six feet of dirt have given all the dirt on you.
Regardless, there's no one who can slip my grasp, I'm the woman who can grab you back from Death's own icy hands.
Fear naught, for an army of the dead has little ambition,
they simply seek manumission foryour god.
Those who seek my refuge need to be...adequate, at best.

I am a necromancer, don't hurry, I've got all the time in this world...
and the next.

I find it funny that the boy who bandaged my battered self,
sat me on a bench with razor blade rakes on my hips and heart, could be so hypocritical.
He told me I was silly, selfish to think these things and act according to impatience and impulse
And now he “needs” the needles and swears by the smoke that fills the space between us and **** I’m scared he’s headed for a place that not even I’ve been.
The end.
You always think you’ve found it, and then another minute passes
And another,
And then you realize that everything is infinite and inescapable.
Terrifying and terribly reassuring, all at once.