Proactive Fugues

Softer attitudes confront in muted sighs. Breathing again. It stops some times. And I forget how it started. Where it begins. It stops and I don't mind. Don't worry if it'll ever start again.

There are anecdotes in even the most brutal of prisons. Quaint stories fathers tell their children after the hardship has been overcome. We are so delicate when we're picking up the fruit. Filling our baskets with the pebbles. Leaves wtih our names scratched into them. Finally fallen.

There are lies even in the most truthful of persons. How good it felt. The stabbing. The reluctance. Of flesh to conform to circumstance.

There are threads dangling from every moment. And needles. Waiting to be threaded.

But I can lose. I can lose. And see the victory in it.

I can give them each a name, but I don't know if they'll answer to it.