Warped Timeline
Reinforcing Existence
My yard is full of shipwrecked angels. Fingerprints erased; wings clipped. I am no longer me, looking at others who feel my presence. Searching an internal location mapped out for reference. Tiredness places me in the wrong line of sight. Pressuring myself not to consume what matters, noticing flapping eyelids like frogs in the moonlight. Everyone's breathing, not surviving, the temples collapse when empty of liar's voices. Tape decks filled with home shot movies, wrestling addicts pay the late fees for comfort. Paper is no longer used to dry up unworthy punishing deeds a human substrate will do. Being frugal amongst thieves and friends, hide the silverware of your heart from the pawnbrokers who hide in the shells of skin. The conveyor belt of wounds to pick from continues unsupervised.
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