he's a slow-motion car crash. he's hurtling straight into this brick wall, so calm, typically these things happen in an instant, unpredictable, but we can all see where this is headed. blurry faces and unknown places, stop and stare at the collision in motion, predictable and alluring.
metaphor for several things... i wonder what and who we each think of
suddenly all of the pens i own are either gone, empty, broken, or left alone no amount of penniless pettiness came from my mouth, no mutters, sobs, nor silence left to give, forgive the narratives, which lingers inching the tip of thy fingers, that holds restless itching to scab and release what remains in scars the pus which ferments on hatred and the scent burning cocoa beans and smoke that knocks on my eyes a blurry vision despite rose-tainted glasses, the taste of bitterness in farewell.
here i lie, between the frustrations of every transition in life.