Frayed Templates of Sadness

a quiet chair chokes down the mounting silence. a curious raindrop questions its fall. there are no replies. only the indifference that tends to strengthen weakening knots. a cold and sinewy ladder connecting the apex and the nadir. little folds in the paper. like choices shitting their pants.

the bending hour. in so many threads. the eager needle. taking more than it gives. the whispering storms are always the most destructive. 

the world ends in stutters. chokes of words and stubborn glances. the story progresses. in the broken way it must. empty pockets and smiling monsters. this skin its own purgatory. this consciousness condemned to an eternity of self-awareness.

the softer bridges tending to bend. as we make the trek across. ignoring the distance when confronted with the depths.

the heavy eyes of when. weary soldiers. in this war of temptations. a stroke of math. we are at zero again. just for a moment. counting anew. the pauses. discovering life in the dimmest corners. a rumble of strangers. thieves in big grins.  time snaps closed. a heavy door. a dark cellar lacking windows.

all gone again. as quickly as it came.  lost. chalk in a blizzard. Shrodinger's box open. only the poison  inside it.