Progress

the hours resolve to the years between us. the hostile math of neglected skin. she wears the why's like soiled panties. misunderstanding the red between her legs.

in one life there are a million choices. in two lives there are none.

time travels through us. in darts and bullets. yet we go through it like liquid. piss and blood. puddles in the palm of its fist. small windows in the rotting walls that fashion this prison.

the hours spill from my mind like spoiling shit. the spectacle of choices. shouting about the windows. i've broken to prove. they can be harnessed. if not possessed. doors. between. how and when. shaking catapults. wrestling with the ropes.

one life. too many choices. bridges failing. giving us away to the chasm below. even by the measure of villains. we are alone.