Fissionable Materials

the cold bit down hard. all molars.crushing what was left of tomorrow's skeleton. we were resolute in our amplitude. waves of worry debating the wind. certain of nothing except gravity. as it groaned beneath our fragile bridges.

i've counted the sticks. i've counted the stones. neither ever amounted to much. i've accused the villains. i've comforted the victims.but empathy has its own set of thorns.

we move through our lives. sparks running down their matchsticks. hungry to start a fire. we ignite. at the slightest friction. and die out just as quickly. we're all chemistry and no imagination. always desperate for a tragedy to make us shine.

we choked on summer. so used to the cold. we told our stories in broken needles. addicted to hope. even as it destroyed us.

we simmered in our grief. impotent tangents in the shadow of the hypotenuse. scavenging our moments as starvation began to set in.