Crack in the Sublime

From through these bent eyes. This deformed vision I see clearer now. The prospect of the habit. The promise of destruction burning a long wick. In tired arms limp with fading friends. The corner's there. Where it should be. Caught in the angle of our intuition. We say we're changing, but we're just saying it. Letting everything else move away from us. While we stay behind. Saying it was never real.

When we know it was. It always is.

As distorted as I see things. As ugly as every word becomes. When there's no one left to love except myself. Pale child on her black horse discarding the saddle.

Has it been long enough yet? Can we hate ourselves now? Start this dying. Turn all those lies over to them and live without. The rooster waking us up. The cloak on the back pedal.

The terminal in your thoughts as you tried to be young again.

Well, we almost were. There was a crack in the sublime just as you began to turn over the first leaf. I saw it. It waited for you to grab hold, but you hesitated.

And then it was gone.