asklepiades (asklepiades) wrote,

  • Mood:


Five, the years and all the lies.
Little slides flipping by when I pull a lever,
Black and white; when I reach the end they just start over again.

I watch them until the evening comes, light dipping behind the sill of the window and
shattering on some picture frames,
exploding around the room before

That's the most finite way I know to say goodnight, but even these slides dim slowly
and I could not say when I went from making out faces to making out
nothing at all.

There have been days,
days I remember
days I can claim as my own.

And there have been days,
Days I wasn't me
Days that have drifted by.

Five, the years and then the lies.
Years I struggled to make sense of the places that came to me the words that were said by me.
Years I bit my lip and made it by
Years I made it by.
Years I never recognized and was never recognized and never recognized and
Years I never felt like me.

I recognize those years now,
and I can find myself in them now,
but I can't recognize today, rising from a pile on the floor as the sun sets behind the sill of the window,

and in still silence sinking back down to the floor.

  • Let's just live it.

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  • (no subject)

    I was wrong.

  • (no subject)

    Everytime someone died. color and breath, the fast unfurl of carbon away from death plants that rise and grow, strange citybomb beneath…

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