we're speaking in tongues.
In the whispered language of snakes
we strain to map the course
of each other's words.
The struggle
to parse a world evolved
from shared confusion
ends too often in silence.
Oxygen petrifies in our lungs
suffocating desire
snuffing out the flames
that burned bright
in our eyes and
on our lips.
The descending cold cannot be quantified.
Time flows sideways
speeding us down roads
leading away from now.
By our own trembling hands
we are forcibly led,
along paths dissolving into hot, sticky anxiety
that scratches the insides of our skulls,
echoing past migraines.
Instinct drives us a respectable distance apart
to each claim a corner of the room.
A patch of carpet becomes a bed of nails.
Kitchen chairs become life rafts
on an ocean where floor used to be.
From our imagined safety
we stare at anything but each other.
Eyes,
still hungry,
intestines knotting,
our big beautiful dreams swim around inside us,
sharks drawn to blood.
And despite the circling danger
we accept
that love is a gamble,
a game devoid of logic
pregnant with unfulfilled dreams
questions unanswered,
where fears,
earned or irrational,
accumulate over lifetimes,
every orifice overflowing
with bile purged
from each obliterated romance.
And with the flood comes knowing,
that one's life
just like one's love,
and one's prey,
is most tangible
most valued
and most dangerous
when cornered.
Oct 28, 2025
Oct 28, 2025 at 12:47 AM UTC
we're speaking in tongues.
In the whispered language of snakes
we strain to map the course
of each other's words.
The struggle
to parse a world evolved
from shared confusion
ends too often in silence.
Oxygen petrifies in our lungs
suffocating desire
snuffing out the flames
that burned bright
in our eyes and
on our lips.
The descending cold cannot be quantified.
Time flows sideways
speeding us down roads
leading away from now.
By our own trembling hands
we are forcibly led,
along paths dissolving into hot, sticky anxiety
that scratches the insides of our skulls,
echoing past migraines.
Instinct drives us a respectable distance apart
to each claim a corner of the room.
A patch of carpet becomes a bed of nails.
Kitchen chairs become life rafts
on an ocean where floor used to be.
From our imagined safety
we stare at anything but each other.
Eyes,
still hungry,
intestines knotting,
our big beautiful dreams swim around inside us,
sharks drawn to blood.
And despite the circling danger
we accept
that love is a gamble,
a game devoid of logic
pregnant with unfulfilled dreams
questions unanswered,
where fears,
earned or irrational,
accumulate over lifetimes,
every orifice overflowing
with bile purged
from each obliterated romance.
And with the flood comes knowing,
that one's life
just like one's love,
and one's prey,
is most tangible
most valued
and most dangerous
when cornered.
