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Dec 2010
Solemnity.

Can you feel the nothing?
Dignified castle silhouette.

All the bullets are gone with the stale wind.
Their wings are broken in the magnetic field.
Curse this inhibition.

Are you getting enough sleep these days?
Have you felt the symptoms of loneliness?
Carpal tunnels.

All our lives we've been snapped in halves and fourths.
Our brains are memory movements, twitching and hollowed.
The medieval depiction left you two years older and a box of prismacolors poorer.
Buzzing in your tendons.

We were fighting a hormone war, wet and *****.
And now we're too old for the stomach flu.
Your skin tone still slides into my color palette, and your image through my wrists.
Now we both suffer, like always.

Strange enough that we never see each other anymore.
And I wouldn't call this love, it's more like an echo.
Can I ask you a question?

Photos, paintings, boys, girls, lying, telling the truth: it's all art.
But words, they're just soul and slices of mind, pure torture.
When do you cry nowadays?

It's all been solar flares.
And we are emerging from our illnesses.

Artists.
We've both spent too much time being artists, so don't point any fingers.
Written by
Clayton Woolery
680
 
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