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Longdistance Sep 2015
the beliefs you ***** in your mind meet each other's corners and become walls, halls and buildings. like in city streets. what's left are small passages where dust and debris collect and gather as if for communion. acid rain from above pays homage to the world, each drop in a puddle; another donation to the collection plate.

the ebb and flow of happenings leave their watermark.. high and low, their stain and filth. the polluted contents stagnate, laid upon stucko or brick.  and you'd have to really lean your head back to get perspective on all of this ****. your monuments tower, derelict but something you call your own.

so very important because they are now your home. and home is not where the heart is in this city of sin. you're disgusting, you are filth, your dignity: you bend.
you're ashamed of all that would make this right, but you laugh at the light. all it's ever done for you is lay rays upon your despicableness. it wasn't always like this but now you relish the dark, it's harder to tell if that's sweat or tears.

laying in wait, while all your demons comfortably spin their wheels and weave their tapestries while you sleep and after your slumber you look upon the travesty that is done for you. the clouds move in, in your mouth a weird taste, and with the last spit in your jaw you mutter "**** this ******* place"
wvllcvndy Nov 2020
i recall a tuesday morning
filled with stucko
twisted sheets
when you leaned to touch my cheek
you always wore your lip balm heavy

i rolled over to see the space between the drawn curtains
where the sun would say good morning
whether it was good or not

our fingers tied in loose
predictable
knots

i remember the eiffel tower
the woman in white
or was she red? i can't be sure

how i paid such close attention
to the timing between our breath

i remember standing in front of the mirror entertained
by how we move
and with those same knots draped below your navel
an embrace that molded us as one creature

these stupid little moments
have a way of stacking up
and when i knock them to the floor
it's so easy to trip over the rubble

maybe i should have spent less time staring at the ceiling
maybe i should have listened to your heart rather than your lungs
maybe i should have tied my knots a little tighter

— The End —