The Damage

Hours later. By design. The ugly perpetuating. Mastubrating against the rumple in my brow. Born biting my nails. Gnawing at the parts of myself the world might touch.

The pillow at the back of his throat cushions my silence in its awkward way. So that I can hear it, but it doesn't hear me.

The pretty in the lie advising us. The rooster in his smile finally waking us.

And we are words again. That I have never spoken. Thoughts that break in tenuous waves. Against walls older than my first love of strangers.

It's always wrong. The moon in the wolf refuses to rise.

Needlesss algorithms choke your look. As you pause to listen to yourself.

The syntax of the heart still undefined.

Lost in thoughts that may refuse us. A product of what we could've been.

The damage. It knows all the hiding places I've forgotten.

The damage, it tries to change us. Fleshing out all the lies we had started to tell ourselves.

I'm always trying to backup what isn't there anymore.