The Mayan Calendar Comes to Truth

When my world ends, it isn’t so loud. It’s slow motion, though – the words creep from her mouth and I know each one far before it strikes the air. And it wouldn’t be too hard but it’s me and I care too much for such extraneous things. And I think about the ring it leaves on me, like stains from mugged coffee – everyone just wants to be free – so why do I exist? I miss already her kiss, the way she’d slack her lips to fix the difference in the evidence. As it turns out, precedence is not enough to sustain passion. Severed ties must all be lashed in, tied again, and burned to hold the burnt out ends of burnt out souls – all coals, I suppose, do cool off. My world ends and there isn’t clocks to capture exactly when time stops and all the world resorts to mocking me for being so completely winless.


~ by perfectionatrix on March 28, 2012.

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