In death we are complete.

April 19, 2012

The delirium ghost projects waves on my walls. Sleep is a homeless and beggarly voice that cries ‘Mercy!’ only when I breathe out in long sighs. I am awake. I am uncomposed, ill prepared and overexposed, like film badly shot. I am the weight of paper, stacked high in boxes. I am light reflected in the mirror.

I am hasty retreat down the path prior walked with such certainty. A am my own footprints, only now shallower, harder to follow. I am robot psychology, collected to correct my nature of sin. I am broken branches gathered eagerly for summer fires. And I burn. I am a break in the fence.

And you are the beautiful burden. You are the crippled wings of birds who tilt wildly at windows that never break. You are the siren and the flashing lights. You draw attention to my violent wreck, my criminal conscience. You are the din of crowds as they gather to mourn or to celebrate life. You are the hush before rain and the shimmer on the windshields of passing cars. You are every color. You are gorgeous, weighty light. You are my silhouette.

Here is a loveless place, but I tried anyways. Here you took my hand and followed, but I led us only to our deaths. The briar patch, the cliffs, the patient, gnawing ocean. I’ll never know if we jumped or only fell. I wish neither. I wish we flew like nameless lights in the sky. I wish we found a way to fall and never stop. But we have hit that surging shoreline and our bones will never let us walk again. We are complete…


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