cycles
chalk dust lipstick
hungry termites
shake the foundations
crumbling
anyway
my hands ever reaching
wind the ribbons twining
through my empty fingers
echoes and echoes
through the void between
my ribs
crack the bones
webbing fractures
growing and growing
crawling across my porcelain
cheeks
painted red with tears
bloodied pomegranate
crushed in the palm
bruised plum
so far from the beginning
from the bleached
and bone-white
from the dust
to
dust
the desertous journey
and splitting floorboards
gaping wounds opening
to swallow hearts, whole worlds
down into the dark
no
not dark
the sun so bright
blinding
eyes closed
everything red, everything black
fever dreams
shaking and sick and
unheld
any comfort years away
and nostalgia-sugared
it is the sand and i
slipping down quick
and buried
clawing pieces of myself away
falling in and
in
over and
over
again
rewind the clock
tilt the hourglass
i’m here and i’m here and i’m
here
at the end at the end not the
end
swallow my spit
and i’ll do it again.
