Monday, November 2, 2015


Trailed by
Prosaic tones;
we slipped away,
late in the night
We passed
all those
thoughts that you stole,
described to me like
they were your own
I know I will
not ask too much;
just keep me occupied

tired and cold,
abandon their posts,
hiding out as we approached

We walked
skies opened up
Screamed at a flawless
Sun while we slept
I'll tell you I
will not look so
bored when you talk in your sleep

Planes crash
Houses explode
The cars on the road swerve,
and end up straight through our backs

we both awoke,
exhaling smoke
Brushed off the dust,
then we moved on

threw their
distant and dark
sinister stares,
but they just bounced off
caught us
and grabbed our throats,
dragged us around, repeating this note:
I made this up
You ask too much
Now you're preoccupied

we stabbed a hole,
dark and alone;
mesmerized by graffiti tagged on the wall
when all was calm,
we submerged our arms
and encased them in pillars of glass