We drink our coffee in silence.
Reminding each other of the past
And planning for a future of distance

even as the sinners were dying they called out
oh my god oh my god
still selfish enough to call out
this my possession
as we lay dying,
killing parts of ourselves daily,
putting beliefs in fascist solar cycles,
in clusters of 11 they assist our changes,
opposition of sides, faces clenched
as galaxies of desires attract different fates,
each a part of the powers that be meta-referencing,
the global system interconnected,
to the struggle of beings intertwining tendrils,
drilling for information of diversity,
that they are not alone
but we lost all that when we switched,
roman rulers dictating the change
from the geocentric
to the solar centric,
yet going back solves nothings,
but being forced to relived past mistakes,
and learn what living with fewer emotions is like,

multi pathed train tracked,
derailed by increasing amounts,
of defulfillment in full bottles and cigs,
longing to whisper secrets,
into a familiar set of ears,
eyeing up the next thrill,
stuck strong in shadows,
past demons, seeking out,
a new target,
a corpse possessing form,
that has been declared as my body,
posses at the mirror,
filled with whitewashed emotions,
and a longing at how everything is colder,
when you aren't around.

After three days of solitude,
I confronted you
in the ruins of the house we tore down together,
We held each other in our broken dreams,
your head was still bleeding from the accident,
you said, I dont want to die here,
and let yr fingers slip down yr throat,
and let the bile come out,
We held again in the pool of tears,
we had been saving in random bottles over the years.
you whispered how everything was changing,
falling apart, all the friends moving on,
all the backgrounds changing,
and how much it hurt,
and how much it was needed,
How we are just kids
trying to find our place,
I said I love you
and you echoed back

mouth syncing up digital brain,
electrically bounding the physical
with the ethereal analog bond
bound up and wrapped,
in fiber optic blankets,
secrets passing layer to layer
heard only by quadraphonic
receivers echoing out
into a singularity of conciseness,
confirmed by units of two

darting eyes behind ten year old screens,
hiding indirectly in directing slights of hand
as if confronting demons would ****
self worthlessness of purposefulness
and destroys the steam of e,
while everything crashes,
to the infinite, singularity of everything
that is in each note spoken out
and sweetly sung out of the universe
seen right in front of me

I barely see your face,
opaqued behind the mirror
the white washed wall
the house I've grown to hate
the expressions only come up
in out dated slang
spoken to a keep a tired joke
still relevant in the days of robots
and comet cosmic collapse