skonen_blades: (Default)
The sun is going down inside of me
As unstoppable in its coming darkness
As the movement of planets
And their unavoidable mechanics
A galactic scale contained in one person
Just like the rest of us
(Incomprehensible, complicated universes that we are)

Winding down
And when the light goes out
I am default closed fridge normal
Not a black hole
Just the flatline background noise of the empty mean
The average cold of the universe
The baseline zero blackness
The measurable nothing
Of the void majority of space

I will that sun to swim
To become dawn
But it has its own schedule
I can trust the future coming of a sunrise
But I can't comprehend what it will be like until it exists

For now I watch the familiar blanket darkly bloom
A muffling oil spill
Spreading over the struggle of that valuable light
Unique and special in its brevity
Its opposite-of-nothingness
It fades in spectacular colors
Sunsetting its last gasps
As it drowns in molasses
The tar pit extinguisher of the horizon
Welcomed into the arms of the galactic normalcy of night

And I turn nocturnal scarecrow
With the patience of a cold lizard
Button-eyed mannequin
A quiet chest and still limbs
More furniture than person
Waiting for the return



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skonen_blades: (hluuurg)
Fill each coffin up with years. Swing them on balance beams and let the cats out of the old hotel. I want the life of a jury nestled deep within the wood of an arrow to find a home. These are the outstretched arms of an apology.

I’m calling you.

I’m an undead pope come back from the grave to tell you the secret. Music in a tuxedo with a bullet hole turning whatever time I have left into an hourglass that begs. My bones are a stuttering staircase that roll themselves into a punch of blood music. The rimshot of my heartbeat tells the audience when to laugh.

Swim away from the bruises. Months later, you’ll be mystified why you ever stayed. You can’t see the fuse getting closer to your life or the clock strapped to your back. I’ve seen your long legs before. They’re made for running. Use them.

If love is blind, why did someone give it a bow and arrow? Cupid’s random sniper eyesight is making a farce of all of this. We are fools for love in every respect.

We are insects trapped in amber on the hilt of a sword. You have a honeycomb inside your chest making square dances out of morals. When he hits you, I feel it. Let’s transform my dark-brown POS into an ejection seat, hide outdoors and leave the city limits behind us for years.

Coming to your rescue is a job for a job for pearl divers. I’m not a strong swimmer. I can’t hold my breath. You think you’re a mermaid but you’re not. You’re drowning.

There’s a theme song for a television show from the seventies going through my head as the sunset catches up with me. I’ve run out of time. My warnings have been unsaid, and it’s time to head back to the grave. Maybe one day this world will get it right but for now, we have to believe that the triumph lies in the attempt.

And nowhere else.




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