a narcolepsy of yourself that sleepwalks beside me and stops, unexpectedly, to become real again; a sky that contracts like a diaphragm, each time you breathe; colors that get airsick
and intensify with nausea, with nowhere to land.
a heart you can plant in the ground and grow into a palatial prison; a mathematical formula that measures the tensile strength of the steel--where the conspirator is timesed by the act of disloyalty over the length of time.
a lie that will run riverine over your face, if i were to shine the blacklight of the past; ink that drips through your eye sockets whenever you can't break the silence
in true "generation throwaway" fashion, we discard one another as if garbage when aluminum with a sleeker, sexier bend appears;
when, looking up from our handheld, hyperopia casts the illusion of a "new and improved" model; when up close, that, too, loses its angles and detail
and becomes the n(ex)t thing to replace.
when night enters your eye and eats the cornea, when "beauty is in the eye of the beholder" and
your self-doubts make so(me)body ****.
trust as prosthesis for a phantom limb when someone isn't there; a self-enumerating list that timestamps the number of times i thought about you under your eyelids; weight watchers for lying: a how-to guide on how to slim back down to your original point
a GPS that locates broken promises on a map of your brain, measuring the neurons not fired; Google Earth as an almanac for souls, so that you can see inside of yourself
on this date, and how wrong you are now.
a nightfall of white noise washing over memories; a constellation of bite marks flickering in-and-out of my mind; ants cannibalizing themselves until the crawling stops-- and i am left with only silence