Peripheral Vision

 the colors are broken. the edges are gone. we lap at the blood as time sharpens its claws. 

the distance comes to know us in shallow cuts and lingering bruises. the weight of these skins is never so heavy as when we find our way out. 

the shadows fidget with their zippers. the villains blow their houses down. 

we rummage through all the succulent hysteria that makes us alive. as if it's ours. 

we poke our fingers through the holes in our time machines. convinced we can make it right. 

thieves in borrowed faces. 

touch is loud. but gravity is silent.