Flint

the chase subsides. stale cunts chew on withered men. the last leaf of autumn. the dying tree won't let go of.

every night the world ends. every morning it's born again. in shattered dolls. limbs everywhere. fingers. toes. heads. a flower petal caught in the first breath of winter.

so the chase continues. the dead beating their chests to feign a heart. the living sucking on that shattered glass.

life measures us in stabs of when. and the scabs that insinuate we knew. how far we'd go to get that close. to people we could never know.

flesh ripe. adamant ghosts. bones. a skeleton of matchsticks. friction solves the riddle. spark. ignite. burn.

the smallest corners. hold the biggest secrets.

it isn't living until it hurts.