Low Voltage

i can image that the peregrine falcon might feel this way in the heat of the dive to plummet,
and I'm simply on fire.

what galactic fucking god has put its magnet inside of me?

as though time had stopped,
my heart explodes, and again i sit staring with my chest immutably percussive...
to reach for the conduit (old circuitry) or fondle the capacitors that paced us;
i feel alight to the wind in symphony, awake to the scent of epiphany,
and frightened like a little girl who wet her panties in front of grandpa and never left to cry.

about a heart (she's running out the door again)

survival is vile when its left to adapt to the framework of empathy's retreat.
one less mouth to feed, i suppose.
oh cold wretched despair,
for you stand starkly alone
in your impediment of my still bristling vessel.

Not You

with a smile aside
i tell you all but the finest of truths with only a stare and a sigh.
no one has ever known me,
and for that i thank the empty space that God might occupy in some other reality.
to get all tangled up in each other's messes;
like children caught under the stairs smashing frogs.
its all just a circle jerk of the infinite remorse that we find absent in such attempts at connection...
bonds yet to be broken,
support unshifted so far;
trust is the but the jester's last tale as he tumbles headfirst into the moat below.

from every angle it is nothing,
even as it fights to convince us otherwise
with feelings, aspirations, contentments, prisms of primal priorities