we went to hiroshima
to look at salvaged pieces
of mangled corpses,
twisted limbs
that were once controlled
by human brains
we lowered our heavy heads
and squinted our blood shot eyes
to read the time frozen on
the wristwatch of a
severed arm,
10:18
it was 10:18 twice today,
it will be 10:18 twice tomorrow
and my arm is in its socket now
but when will my watch stop ticking?
when will my wrist disintegrate
so much that the tan leather strap
will cease to be strapped to anything at all?
as if my senses have been
heightened in this instant
i can hear the faint
whisper from my arm,
"tick, tock, tick, tock"
i am older with every slight
motion of each narrow hand
consistently aging,
rhythmic like perfect breathing,
always dying,
always dying
there is no space
that time doesn't occupy
but we went to hiroshima
to look at salvaged pieces
of mangled corpses,
twisted limbs
that were once controlled
by human brains
and we were comforted,
all gathered between museum walls
to see the depth of our mortality,
without really having to feel it
here,
we were safe,
at least we pretended to be
because here,
we were looking at death
encased in glass,
death right beside
a hanging sign that read
"do not touch glass"
in red ink
here,
we could see death
but we couldn't get too close
and to us that meant
death can see us
but it couldn't get too close
so we stood before
every expression
of frozen time,
the end of time,
the continuation of time,
with this plexiglass shield
that we thought was immortality,
drunk on this illusion
that we were somehow
being protected from our own
inevitable doom
by some material
produced by men in a factory,
and held down by two screws
on either side
every time we inhale,
every time we exhale
the unpredictable moments
that cradle our glass lives,
while reaching over
glistening concrete
where we can turn into
a heaping pile of blood
and sharp edges,
losen their grip
every single time
we inhale,
every single time
we exhale
we can pretend
that air is endless,
and i guess it is
but individually
it can't be
individually,
air is limited
each one of us
are only allowed so much,
some of us less than others,
but for all of us the same rule applies,
each breath is spent,
never lended
each breath
is a breath we will not
be reimbursed for
so,
we pay to
scrunch our noses
up like sleeping bags
and open our eyes wide like
neglected *** holes,
at the sight of
time all caged up
cause we need to
believe we have a say
Oct 12, 2015
Oct 12, 2015 at 12:56 AM UTC
we went to hiroshima
to look at salvaged pieces
of mangled corpses,
twisted limbs
that were once controlled
by human brains
we lowered our heavy heads
and squinted our blood shot eyes
to read the time frozen on
the wristwatch of a
severed arm,
10:18
it was 10:18 twice today,
it will be 10:18 twice tomorrow
and my arm is in its socket now
but when will my watch stop ticking?
when will my wrist disintegrate
so much that the tan leather strap
will cease to be strapped to anything at all?
as if my senses have been
heightened in this instant
i can hear the faint
whisper from my arm,
"tick, tock, tick, tock"
i am older with every slight
motion of each narrow hand
consistently aging,
rhythmic like perfect breathing,
always dying,
always dying
there is no space
that time doesn't occupy
but we went to hiroshima
to look at salvaged pieces
of mangled corpses,
twisted limbs
that were once controlled
by human brains
and we were comforted,
all gathered between museum walls
to see the depth of our mortality,
without really having to feel it
here,
we were safe,
at least we pretended to be
because here,
we were looking at death
encased in glass,
death right beside
a hanging sign that read
"do not touch glass"
in red ink
here,
we could see death
but we couldn't get too close
and to us that meant
death can see us
but it couldn't get too close
so we stood before
every expression
of frozen time,
the end of time,
the continuation of time,
with this plexiglass shield
that we thought was immortality,
drunk on this illusion
that we were somehow
being protected from our own
inevitable doom
by some material
produced by men in a factory,
and held down by two screws
on either side
every time we inhale,
every time we exhale
the unpredictable moments
that cradle our glass lives,
while reaching over
glistening concrete
where we can turn into
a heaping pile of blood
and sharp edges,
losen their grip
every single time
we inhale,
every single time
we exhale
we can pretend
that air is endless,
and i guess it is
but individually
it can't be
individually,
air is limited
each one of us
are only allowed so much,
some of us less than others,
but for all of us the same rule applies,
each breath is spent,
never lended
each breath
is a breath we will not
be reimbursed for
so,
we pay to
scrunch our noses
up like sleeping bags
and open our eyes wide like
neglected *** holes,
at the sight of
time all caged up
cause we need to
believe we have a say
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