when we used to speak, i found comfort in saying whatever i so thought i looked forward to spilling the contents of my brain into the open air, allowing you to take in the sights and sounds of the sentences my lips were forming around
when we speak now, all i feel is a glass sheet sat on the tops of my teeth waiting to shatter under the pressure of the conversation now, i have to be careful with what i say, otherwise, the shards would find their way down my throat causing nothing but more pain, and more blood
now, when we speak, the words i say feel different against my tongue they taste metallic and damaging like lies and betrayal rather than sweet memories and fairytales like sugar cubes and honey
I am envisioning a world of bots, pulling us into the black hole of innovation and technology, with no trees, no schools, no collages, nothing that is bricks and mortar. Can you envisage a life on man-made oxygen? Can you imagine the fantasy world in movies becoming our real world? I'm being ingenuously curious, how long before a plethora of machines and bots, a metallic universe created by man, replaces everything we have lived for? A few more countable years perhaps. Just the thought sets me off in trepidation. I wish to somehow freeze and slowdown the evolving era so the living flesh and blood could be prepared for what they are about to face.
Read to me about things i'll never see Imagine I'm sitting up in a hospital bed Cradled by white cotton pillows infused with bleach Empty clear bendy plastic cups sit neglected My usual lipstick stains stayed in the handbag today Your fingertip bruises decorate me instead I once thought: There is no better colour than the colour that they put into your eyes That is the colour of the liquid that they have put in the drip bag I might not be able to picture that colour, but I recognise the feeling of it entering my body Rusty clots and mascara dust barricade it from leaving
Maybe not immediately Or in a weeks time But the cells of my heart muscles are becoming saturated with the juices Becoming preserved in syrup Seized and breathless
I knew that from the very first time I have been a can of something Its label torn off Unsealed and bleeding And we both knew Duct tape couldn't keep that together Still my hands were cupped trying to clasp But now Its embedded under my fingernails.
Downy flowing dripping That metallic taste in my mouth I knew there was something wrong with me before I knew what it was I still don't know exactly But I do know for sure when I step into a room no one looks to the door