Massaging Arteries

worn bricks. narrow the doorway.  debate the steps. a facade of numbers plays with division. manic. like blood from her wrists. certain. like the song that plays while she drowns. the road negotiates. the soil convinces. hesitant feet. they are almost there.

it's purpose. an oblivion of bridges. twinkling and choking on the sickly horizon. doggedly chasing that thin line between sun rise and sun set. imaginging the world in needles. frayed teddy bears and diluted poisons.

newspaper in the cage. begging for piss.

zipper in her veins. biting down hard. a slurry of shit and tears. scratches out her face. 

the hill to fall down. the bucket to spill. the empty stage. butterflies sneezing. and the disolve of cocoons.

the simple lies the skin tells. more paper than scissors. suffocating in words that don't belong.

empty pictures drawn in dark corners of the mind. stare. tremble. echo. with spasms of life. that cruel and determined union of blood and oxygen that constantly befouls an otherwise beautiful science.  

the numbers pierce. the equation stabs. panicked with life. swollen with death. grey. long arms stretch.  humble fingers barely touch. indifferent ears search. struggle to find. that one perfect scream of silence.