Disappearing Ink

We're sorry. We always are. These shitty wings don't work and these beans ain't magic. Rage protects. The hurt child that cowers inside us. Love is a difficult emotion to process. It tears down. It builds up. We're weak and we're strong because of it.

We're lost. We're defeated. Because. Ultimately that's what life does. Use us up. Bits of the machine to be processed. Teasing time lines give us pause. But little changes. We're sorry. Always. For soemthing. Someone. Braids in her hair. Reluctantly coming undone. Because the rubber bands have broken.

Mothers explaining to their children. Who they are. The cycle of defeat finding its rhythmn amongst ordinary people.

Was. Am. All we are. Clamoring to contain. The seeds of doubt. The pursuit of demons keeps me busy. While I wonder what you want. I know, but don't understand. How life is enough.

Telling stories. Climbing stairs. Looking in attics. For boxes that are no longer there.