Chain stretched tight about to burst like old relationships that break apart at the opening credits of the new ones and the way every movie runs together when your eyes are closed so tight you can feel your pulse in the thin sheath of your eyelids.
My hand too far up on your thigh for when people we know are around and pearls tight cold against my wrist, costume jewelry vintage stores. Soft nylon satin cotton something, and if I paid attention I’d know this is not the way to go again.
All the light bulbs burning out simultaneously against swirled pavement ceiling- driveways leading into parkways and avenues dotted with your perfect houses and still growing trees that reach for sunlight through only their own branches no evolution, desolation, carnation sickening scent like sugar water baked through with cinnamon and soaked in plastic roses.
Games played on the telephone wires, photographs left out intentionally. Wonderment never lost past age five and curiosity will kill you every time. locked doors, closed eyes waiting out the calm until the storms comes to break, and understanding is always just that unattainable dream.
Bone cage to bend and break and wait it out again. And the times when everything stops moving slows down not so much like freezing, not so much like time stops. Just escape velocity, just absolute zero.
Green blends to gold too easily at 3 AM and the sun up mornings dusk and dew clings too close when you’re cold outside and the day won’t break like walls and electric wire strings of perfect pearls to shatter and fall around you.
And this could be the first time. This could be the first time, I’m really sure. Unsure.