the con was long. though the payoff short. we found the sun in pieces. skin and bone boasting equations it could not solve. epiphanies lingering. as the lights dimmed and lips chapped. waiting on the whims of the clock.
shallow cuts. little blood. but the scars persist.
we measure the dark in filament and worry. counting the minutes to changes that rarely come.
we know each other in pencils and long division. the numbers are patient as we flirt with the end. travellers without a destination. weapons looking for a war.
perspective means seeing how all lines eventually intersect.
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