Everything always tears off in huge, bloody strips. I sit here and wait for you, like I have done for years, like I have done for minutes. I am starved from the calm, silent waiting. I have no memory of the taste of anything anymore. Come save me; just your being here will be the nourishment I need.
Whenever I watch you walk home, it is always at dawn. Whenever we say goodbye, it is always under the rain. Time is here, relentlessly here, and vicious, and it is always winning. I imagine you pressing your fingers to the keys, and that life is unfolding in front of you, happening, like the beat of a heart.
Tram lines lead me back to you, to the wish that I had told you I had loved you. Across the table, in the darkness, next to the water; I love you. I would have said it, I really would. But it never came up.
Time is still the years, holding on tight, making me drag them along, as if there was never a time when they were not with me. The years are acting like they are family, and maybe they are by now, because who am I to argue. What do I really know.
Barbed wire on decision sits in my marrow and once in a while tears a strip off the flesh - sometimes with bone, or muscle, and once in a while a tooth or two. My eyes will be torn out eventually, and yet in a way this suits me fine, because it means I will finally stop looking at the clock. There is so much blood around me. There is so much gore in my wake yet you do not see it. You do not even smell it - the living, twitching, damage caused by my decision.
As life saps away, all I can say is I don't know, I don't know. How can even you know. I just don't know. Paralysis, which track to take. The viscera of fear, indecision and complete blindness.
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