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Sep 2018
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

******* involving only your tongue, because

you too often hold yours.
Written by
stylesclash  28/M/USA
     Fawn and Amanda S
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