Thursday, April 2, 2015


I spark the brilliant blasphemy, another bland epiphany. White room, too large walls and frost in air. You were glowing in your malignancy.

I spoke of steep towers, of canyons so deep the human brain cannot comprehend them. I went through the tubes and I kept going. I am fire and deception, the taint of smoke on hot wind. I am fear and bravery. I am striving towards a finish line, always moving, pulled by a lurid jester.

I am sad because I expected more. It's a set up, you gotta figure. You're young and you want to be old. You're old and you want to be young. I want to sing the truth of a song I've never sung.

You are cold depth.

Sitting in a booth, small town, spider-web cracks in the red, sparkle vinyl. You joked about the small juke box and I laughed, fingernails deep in thigh flesh.

I am the ghost of memory, twisted for the entertainment of no one, granted small glimpses of clutch bouquets and June mornings.

Honey, I'm tired, you say. Baby, that's alright, that's just fine. Tired is alright. That's what I say, while I hear the steel on the grindstone and imagine the depth. So deep you can't see the bottom. Can't see the heart for all the blood. But someone's gotta bleed.

There ain't a whole lot that's sure in life. But someone's always gotta bleed. You mark my words.


  1. This damned roller coaster has no end. Once on, there is no stop, no getting off, not even for a short bit. It keeps going - up and down, up and down. You may say I imagine it but I swear the ups are slower, lower, and the downs slide faster and go deeper. The in-betweens, where there's supposed to be a lull, a rest - well, they're getting shorter. No, don't try to convince me I'm being paranoid. Don't tell me it isn't so. They don't even give me time to catch my breath any more.

    I can see it in your eyes. You look away, try to hide it, deny it, but you know I'm right. You're on it, too, as stuck as I am.

    You know, I don't even remember getting on. I hate roller coasters. They make me sick, give me headaches. Remember?

    You meet my eyes, a sad, slow nod. Yes, you feel it, too. There's no getting off - not until the end - the end we know is inevitable but can't see - don't want to see - yet.

  2. Damn. Love the rhythm here. When you get to the line "You are cold depth" feels like this beautiful, slo-mo hover. SO good.


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