Titles Misplaced

No more. antidotes. The lure of the sickness prevails. Dirty clowns smearing their faces. Caught crying again. Nothing to want. Like that. The calm abyss of failing. To be loved.

The artists in our skin carving out the touch. In nervous chisels of the stone. That conceal us. The kill. Words bite enough to suffocate. I wanted to die anyway. I just never expected it would take this long.

Needles in the heart gathered the drug. Extracting. Not giving at all. All this high in my head lasts longer than it should. Broken ladders to climb again and again. Slowly ascending to where i've fallen.

It wants to be death, but it never is. THe wake of stranger's skin contemplating what it will take. Tiny earthquakes of men destroying everything.

I can't remember the last time that it mattered. but I know it still rememebers me. I hear it. Practicing the lies I once worshipped.

I pity all those moments. Forced to explain theemlves to people that can't understand.

The scales that weigh us agaunst the inertia of convenient explanations.