a + b is to a as a is to b

The mythology of truth is that we've ever known it. Flesh is the chalkboard of life. Temporary lessons. Scratched into skin. Healed long before we have. It's only learning. The only thing we must. What we are not.

The truth is the hurt is omniscient. Knows me. And them. All that it will take me a lifetime to reconcile. It's all there in those seconds of tears. The truth is lies are the best medicine. For this cancer called hope.

The dream woke me up again. And I believed for a minute that the world was there. At my doorstep. A stray dog I could tempt to stay. With a taste of my garbage. Spoil the lust with need. Pretend time had miscounted. And there was a moment I had missed. When it had ever mattered.

Lungs too black to argue the merits of oxygen.

I'm just paper after all. Long matchsticks elapsing from the carbon. Snips of careless scissors. That made too many of us. Lost in each other as we are. Paper arms. One for each of us. Curtains of skin. Draped over a window that never closes.

I turn the dial back. In fairy tales I call sex. The compass lies. And I am lost again.

It's only time after all. Particles of men equal to the ratio of woman. It's all just a formula. A way to measure how wrong I was. When I assumed the the doorway was mine to close.