Grey Chronicles

pries the fang from the corner of her mind. thick with the taste of diminishing choices. small drops of blood build their stories. One letter at a time. She tastes the scream. Bitter and hot. The stale purgatory of youth. Stubborn and hopeful. As flesh concedes.

solved for if. the numbers dance and giggle. spoiling their breadcrumbs in a broken trail. searching for back in a frenzy of torn faces. like so many lost children. content to run away with whatever they can take.

the bridge chokes into place. the loud mechanics of when. draw their paths  with dull pencils and empty pockets. she flaunts her monsters. willfully. as any poet woudl. negotiating the task of skin with the mirrors she's been given.

only tomorrow has her face. the adamant masks that dare to know us. confiscate our tears. alone digs in the soil. planting moments to cultivate. every hour diseased. desperate for the medicine of strangers.

and the ache of friends.