in singular dissection by batting lashes,
a regular pattern emerges:
to fall in eyes, change mind,
a hermitian allegory spun out
fingertips clustered on lies and
lonesome seeps in through the
concrete floor. i can't stand up.
i can't hold myself up, now.
i just collapse, most days.

the tides roll up and engulf the city in
a single blow. there is nothing but
drowning; i am so used to this that
i do not notice the corpses. just
my own, in the mirror. there
is no difference today. there is
nothing that is not the same.
the iteration carries through.

circles traced circles. curses
thrown to the wind. you don't
even know. you don't even
know. you don't even know
and i could just tell you.
but i won't. i'll just be sore
and sorry. bloodied, like usual.

and i can't hold myself up.

but i can carry you home,
tonight i could feign anything you
wanted of me. if only you'd want
some small ****** up something
like me.

if only