It couldn’t be afforded but was taken anyway.
There wasn’t a price tag to our narrative;
it was scrawled on brick,
etched into philosophy:
great are we as we realize ourselves in perserverance.
The limits placed were redirected,
made boundaries on society,
called out the enemies of industry,
where words out of rival mouths were propaganda cries.
Tuned it out with glass and plastic,
licking dry the drug of our lips,
laid in a heap when embraced,
stranded drifters scrambling to cover breaches in the hull.
One hand releasing drowns us
as we find the boundary of physicality,
low on limbs to forgive cracks in the apartment.
Out pours what can never be admitted.
You’ve an anger to accept versus my violent silence.
Knowing that facing the separation would birth havoc,
gauging flaw from fact,
all were damned to be liars against imagination.
Encumbered in the flood too long,
we stopped noticing the lack of breath between us,
finding gasps to be pleasure,
losing sight of the shore as glorious spontaneity
under the gaze of a rigid world.
You’ve glass to pluck out of your forearm
when the closing call fought an urge for more.
I’ve fabric to barricade my new hell,
wishing you well while descending,
cloaking harm marks with tattooed grins.
It couldn’t be afforded and now red signs are red integers
lining conscious,
mutually depleted.
Etched it on the back of my hand
and still told all to a brick wall
when knowing falls repeat as the globe spins;
you glide in gravity back to where you started,
and what clouded before is the head’s atmosphere.
Subdued it with plastic.
It ran free
as she’s somewhere in the sea,
drowned ten feet down or hovering above,
neither in sight from a knife’s edge.
~
( ❤ Mitch)
