Tipping Scales

There are walls. There are windows. I couldn't tell you the difference. Except that looking out. Seeing is its own prison. Looking out. To find. The world waking up again. Is another reminder. Of how little I have left in here.

We chase the sunsets. With eyes half closed. Blaming the sun for our blindness. When the fact is. We don't even look.

We dream. In rapid sequences. Hungry animals gnawing on the fences. That separate. The needy and the privileged. We tote with us. Those heavy bones. Searching for the focus. The window has exploited. Combing through the dead. For pieces of skin. Big enough to be our blankets. When life forgets the winter should end.

I sleep beside her. As if she might know me when we wake up. From this awful nightmare. That is us.

I don't say anything, but hope that she's listening. As I break the glass.

Together. We try on each of those demons. Together. We decide. It has already hurt enough.

We waste years pretending we can measure. Each other.