but as you see i do not have an awful lot to tell
everybody’s sick for something that they can find fascinating
everyone but you and even you aren’t feeling well
There are centuries of cameras out there, millions of tiny irises adjusting to the adjunct light shaping golden hynds from aurora just before twilight. Bone-thick bruises bleed in fluorescence, wound in laser-light and counting each adjustment of your lashes, each flutter and flail, every vibrating architecture suspended in the soft rush of nothing more than just an echo of the whisper we began to forget when first we asked 'who'. All you see is squinting in the blue-black haze, a gaudy-god-awful purple blending in the stagnant red milieu, like fingertips ribbing retinae, apposing sewn-up gowns of riddled distraction. There are only so many heartbeats left in your chest, each bliss of explosion a blossom of ichor feathered to the rhythms you thrive on, outward in filamentous flooding, a violent crimson crush suffusing violet skin.
You feel the worn words slipped into you, riding past your ribs in rough woollen gauze soaked in fear and fallen expectations, and while teetering yourself in the silver-flake, you murder the blearing sense the laughter lines had given you. You've wasted a lifetime on foundation, carving out the stitches and eroding the long strokes a finger once left across you fretting tender strings against your face. A blind melody, canticle and canon of fate.
And so careen and care alike, always waking in a state of gladly-gaited deference, meaning to enjoy the slight swollen suture and eclipsing vanishing point, meaning to exact with deftness the widening difference between forgotten and this. Out of pace.
How did it come to such lingering demarcation, cutting and scarring, scraping and tearing, wearing and weary and thin. How have you gone missing, how without winding the great springs or fleeting pendulums declining, how without measuring the errata you've managed to adjust to or from, without setting one soft lip to the other and forgiving in all this gravitas.